Hunger
by Eligent
Summary: What can make you change everything you are and turn you into something you never thought you'd be? When someone is coming for one of your own, your whole team hurts, which the BAU painfully learns as an unsub seeks revenge in the deadliest way.
1. Chapter 1

**Hunger**

**by Eligent**

**Summary: **When someone is coming for one of their own, the whole team hurts, which the BAU painfully learns as an unsub seeks revenge in the deadliest way.

**A/N: **Just a short chapter to hopefully spike some interest… By the way, still not English-speaking!

* * *

Another case was over. Another success for the team and the people of the city where their latest serial killer had preyed on innocents. The unsub was no longer unknown, but apprehended and in the hands of the local authorities. Four men had sadly been put to rest, but two others would live on.

The team was in the round table room back at Quantico, summing up their efforts. Constructive criticism was given and received, as were the praise they were due. Their reports were gathered together and they prepared to put the case away to concentrate on whatever would fall into their laps next.

Water bottles and half-empty containers of fried rice, lo mein, shrimp dumplings and other Chinese delicacies littered the table, as the team had shared an amiable and relaxed working lunch.

When they deemed themselves finished with their work, most of them went on to other engagements. JJ needed to smooth over some local feathers that had been ruffled during the team's brusque rampage through the small sheriff's office, Elle had calls to return and Hotchner and Gideon had paper work responsibilities that went far beyond that of the rest of the team's. Morgan and Reid volunteered to stay behind and put the files together for the permanent archive. Reid was quite content from his lunch, but Morgan had found a chocolate bar in his pocket to serve as dessert. He stayed at the table to sort the witness reports in chronological order, while Reid set out to empty the white boards of photos and other displayed documents.

"So," Morgan said amiably, "Who've you got picked for the game tonight?"

"Game?" Reid said absentmindedly, reaching for the eraser.

"_The _game, Reid. The NBA playoffs? Basketball, you know?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"And you call yourself an American male," Morgan snorted. "You do know what basketball is, don't you?" He had a large bite of chocolate, caramel and peanuts into his mouth, making his words muffled.

"Hey," Reid said, turning around to face him. "You're the one who keep insisting I know everything, not me."

Reid turned back to his task again and Morgan quietly counted down in his head. Three, two, one…

"Did you know," Reid began and Morgan smiled at his back, before devouring the last of his candy. Reid was nothing if not predictable.

"Did you know that the pre-Colombian people of Mesoamerica actually had a game rather similar to basketball? Only the hoops, or goals, were placed on the long sides of the court and they weren't parallel to the floor, they were parallel to the wall. There's a very well-reserved ball court at Chitzén Itzá, on the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico. The court in itself represented a portal to the underworld and the ball represented the sun, the moon or the stars. Because, of course, it wasn't just a game. Very little in the ancient Mesoamerican cultures are ever separated from religion. The game is represented in the mythology of almost all the Mesoamerican people.

"Both men and women played, but, and here's the tricky part, you were only allowed to use your hips, thighs and upper arms, never your hands or feet, to pass the ball around and to score goals. And the ball weighed 7 or 8 pounds and was really hard and completely solid, and the hoops were 20 feet up in the air. Can you imagine making a shot like that with your thigh?" Reid was really getting into his impromptu lecture

"The game was very violent and the players had to wear a lot of protective gear. There were often serious injuries, and occasionally death. Some bruises were so bad that they had to be cut open, and the blood squeezed out." He grimaced at the thought.

"And on special occasions, after the game, the captain of the losing team or even the captain of the winning team would be sacrificed to the gods. Some references say that the whole winning team would be sacrificed by the hands of the losing team. Kind of backwards, don't you think? Of course, for the Mayans especially, it was an honor to be sacrificed to the gods. For example, there are five days in the Mayan calendar…"

"Don't you ever shut up?" Morgan's voice was hard and cold.

"Excuse me?" Reid turned around, surprised. Morgan usually didn't talk to him with that tone of voice.

"I'm so sick and tired of your constant attention seeking stunts. Why would anyone ever be interested in you bizarre little anecdotes?" He walked closer to Reid, who involuntarily took a step back, unnerved by the spiteful look on Morgan's face. But Morgan followed him, stepping into his personal space, crowding him.

"Morgan? Are you all right? What's wrong?" Reid's eyes shifted around the other man to see if anyone was close enough to help him should it be necessary, but they were alone. For the first time ever he felt unsafe in Morgan's presence. And he had good cause, because suddenly Morgan closed his hand around Reid's throat and pushed him ruthlessly a couple of stumbling steps backwards into the wall.

Reid tried to push him away, his hands braced on Morgan's tense shoulders, but Morgan's larger bulk and the increasing pressure on his windpipe easily kept him plastered to the wall.

"What's wrong?" Morgan was practically growling as he repeated Reid's question with a contemptuous sneer. He closed the tiny distance between them even more, pushing heavily into Reid's body. His breath was hot in Reid's ear as he spoke directly into it.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. You are. You walk around here like the king of the castle, expecting everybody to bow to your superior intellect. You never miss an opportunity to show off, do you? You think you're better than everyone else, don't you?"

"Morgan, I never…" Reid wheezed around his abused windpipe.

"Shut up, for once in your life. I'm talking now," Morgan yelled, his fist tightening as Reid fought to breathe.

Then he unexpectedly pulled back and for a fleeting moment Reid thought that he would let him go, that he would once again be rational. He relaxed marginally, but Morgan wasn't done with him yet. Instead he drew his gun. Reid's eyes grew impossibly large. Was he going to shoot him? But this was Morgan, he would never hurt him. Would he?

"Morgan, let me go. Please…" It wasn't even a whisper, just his lips moving, pleading, hoping to reach his friend.

Morgan let go of Reid's throat, leaving the other man gulping in air, but he didn't take his hand away from him. Instead he gripped his jaw, clenching and digging his fingers into Reid's cheeks. He then brought the gun up to Reid's face and brutally forced it into his mouth in a downwards angle, the barrel coming to rest on Reid's tongue, far back in his mouth.

"Where would you be without your words, huh? Who would ever think twice about you without them?"

The gun felt impossibly large and intrusive and the taste of metal and gun oil was overpowering all of his other senses, encompassing him into a world consisting of black metal and gunpowder. The hole from where he was sure a bullet would soon emerge seemed to grow until he was afraid that it would devour his tongue. His heart was thundering in his chest and it felt like the air he laboriously drew in through his nose was nowhere near enough to sustain him.

His eyes pleaded with Morgan to stop, to step back, to return to normal, to become _his _Morgan again. A thousand thoughts crowded his head, memories of card games, slaps on the back, shared jokes, shared sorrows. This couldn't be happening!

His lips were closed around the gun as Morgan's unforgiving fingers dug into his cheeks painfully, forcing Reid's head back and making his teeth scrape against the metal in his mouth. His body still held Reid firmly in place, and Reid was too scared to struggle. He didn't want the gun to go off.

"Or maybe…" Morgan said, abruptly changing the angle of the gun. The metal scraped against his teeth with a drawn-out sound that reverberated through his skull as the barrel struck hard against the roof of his mouth, causing his head to bang into the wall behind him.

"Maybe I'll just put us all out of our misery."

Reid's panicked eyes sought out Morgan's eyes, but he did not see his friend in them. They were glossy, almost feverish, and he looked wild. The gun was trembling slightly in his hand and it kept irritating Reid's gag reflex, which he was having a hard time controlling.

"What will your precious brain be worth, huh, splattered all over the wall?"

The sound of the safety being released was the loudest thing Reid had ever heard.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"Morgan? What the hell are you doing? Let him go!" Hotchner suddenly shouted, startling them both. He had come into the room for his forgotten day planner and gotten the shock of his life.

The gun was pulled out of Reid's mouth, and he thought that it was Hotchner that had overpowered Morgan and pulled it out, but he soon realized that it wasn't, when he felt Morgan twist around to stand behind him, the crook of his arm closing around Reid's throat, the gun coming to rest against his cheekbone. Reid's hands automatically clutched the arm around his throat. His eyes locked onto Hotchner, hoping against hope that there was an end to this nightmare.

Hotchner stood across the room, his gun drawn and pointing at them. "Morgan, what are you doing?" he asked again, much calmer this time. As the initial shock passed he realized that Morgan was not himself and he felt himself thread on very uncertain ground as he slowly edged closer to the pair.

"Come on, man. Let him go. We can talk about this. Everything will be all right."

"Hotch?" Morgan asked, sounding uncertain. "Wha… Why's… What's going on?"

Hotchner heard footsteps behind him, and realized that his shouting would have alerted the rest of team, and probably half the office. He saw Gideon in the corner of his eye and took a step back to let him move forward to talk, trusting him to be able to reach Morgan, whatever state he was in, but he didn't put his gun down. Morgan still had his gun pressed into Reid's cheek, and Hotchner didn't even want to think of the disaster laying in wait right in front of his eyes.

"Derek," Gideon said softly, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm… I… Gideon?" Morgan squinted, raising his gun hand to wipe sweat off his forehead, but bringing it back down quickly, the barrel grazing over Reid's ear, making him flinch.

"Derek, what are you doing with Reid? Why don't you just let him go and then we'll take care of you."

"Me? Take care of… No, no, you've got it all wrong. Don't you see, I'm doing us all a favor here! I'll take care of everything, you don't have to worry about it."

"What are you taking care of? What is it you want to do? We can help you, I promise. Just let go of Reid."

Behind him, Reid could feel Morgan's body trembling and sweating. He could feel his panting breath against his neck and beneath his fear and confusion, he knew that there was something horribly wrong with his friend.

"No, no, no, no… I'll fix it, I'll fix everything. I just need… need… I'm… Gideon? What are you doing here?" Morgan brought his gun hand up again, wiping his wrist across his eyes, pressing his hand against his head, raking it over his hair.

This time, however, Reid was ready, and when the gun moved back towards his face he reached up and made a grab for it, at the same time twisting himself out of Morgan's grip, which had become increasingly weaker. Morgan gave up the gun without protest, and Reid quickly backed away, while the others moved in closer.

Reid stood a bit away, alone, trembling, breathing hard, clutching the barrel of the gun which was still wet with his saliva, and rubbing his other hand over his throat while the others crowded in on Morgan, who was looking increasingly confused.

Morgan really didn't look well, Reid reflected from his position. He was sweating and swaying. He was trying to bat away Hotchner and Gideon's hands when they reached for him, but he was too weak. And then suddenly he collapsed. He just slipped out of their hands, fell to the floor and lay unmoving.

The room turned frantic. Morgan was quickly turned into a rescue position as they shouted orders at each other. Elle called for an ambulance and Hotchner darted out of the room to get a rescue bag. Suddenly Morgan started seizing, his body tortured by violent, bone-crackling jerks.

Reid kept staring at Morgan's shaking body without really seeing it. It was all too much for him to take in right now. The taste of gun oil was still too thick in his mouth.

The gun clattered on the floor as he dropped it when he ran out of the room, almost crashing into Hotchner who was returning. He made it to the bathroom just in time. Kneeling in one of the cubicles he was violently sick, the brutal heaves forcing tears into his eyes. He stayed on the floor for a couple of minutes until his stomach was completely empty and the dry heaves had subsided. And then he stayed another minute, just to get his breath back.

His mind was moving with dizzying speed as he tried to understand what had just happened. Had it even happened? It felt like such a bad dream, but he knew it wasn't. His mouth still hurt and his lip felt like it was on fire. He clumsily pushed himself back up on his feet and made it over to the row of sinks. Looking at himself in the mirror he saw that his lip was bleeding profusely. He didn't remember it happening, but the gun had smashed his lips into his teeth, splitting it open and the vomit had made it sting fiercely.

He washed himself off as best as he could and rinsed his mouth out, over and over and over again, but to no avail. He could still feel the gun in there.

The door opened and Gideon came in. Reid saw him in the mirror and turned to him.

"Morgan?" he asked hoarsely.

"He's being loaded into the ambulance now. Hotch is going with him. It doesn't look good… How are you?" Gideon pulled a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser and pressed them against Reid's lip, making it difficult for Reid to answer, which he was grateful for. He didn't think he could lie convincingly right now.

Gideon looked searchingly at him. He still didn't know the whole story; there hadn't been any time for explanations while they had been working on keeping Morgan alive. When he had come into the round table room, Morgan had been holding Reid around the neck, threatening him with a gun. He wondered what had happened before that, he wondered what had split that lip. But mostly he wondered what was going on in the head of the man in front of him right now. He had a pretty good idea of what had sent him running to the bathroom, but he had a feeling that now was not the time to push him.

He let Reid hold the paper towels himself and gave his arm a small tug.

"Come on. Elle and JJ are waiting for us. We're going to the hospital."

"I'm not sure…"

"You need to have that lip looked at. Come on."

When they walked by the round table room Reid saw several forensic agents moving around carefully, bagging the food containers, the water bottles and the rest of the trash from their lunch.

"What are they doing?" he asked.

"We think Morgan suffered an overdose of something, we have to figure out what it was and where it came from."

Drugs. Drugged. Overdose. Involuntary overdose. Poisoned. He should have figured that out. Of course there was a rational explanation for his behavior, because Morgan would never do that to him. Only… only he had. He had pulled out his gun, and he had… Reid shook his head to get rid of the unwanted image. He needed to think about something else.

"But, if it was in the lunch… is every one else okay?"

"So far. We're all having blood tests done when we get to the hospital though."

Reid nodded. That made sense.

* * *

A nurse met them outside the hospital entrance.

"Are you the BAU team?"

"We are," Gideon confirmed.

"Please come with me, we're going to keep you isolated until we are sure that what happened to Agent Morgan won't happen to you too."

She led them through a side door and into an exam room. Hotchner was already there, his jacket off and his shirtsleeve rolled up. Another nurse was drawing blood from him and he was talking on his cell phone, even though the nurse was giving him the evil eye.

He looked up as they entered and saw the blood splotched paper towels Reid held to his lip and frowned. He didn't remember him bleeding, but truth to tell, he had lost sight of Reid pretty fast and prioritized Morgan. First he'd been a threat, then he'd been a team member in distress, and Reid had been lost in the shuffle. He had simply trusted that someone else would take care of him, and he really hoped that someone had.

"We don't know yet, Mrs. Morgan," he said to Morgan's worried mother, over the phone, "but we'll call you as soon as we do… We'll see you then, bye." He hung up and turned his attention in his team.

"Morgan?" JJ asked.

"Down the hall. They are working on him. I… We don't know anything yet."

"Could you all roll up your sleeves for me, please?" the nurse asked. "And why don't you sit up here, sweetie, and let me take a look at your lip." She pushed Reid towards the exam table where Hotchner was already sitting and he reluctantly sat next to him.

Reid didn't particularly like sitting on exam tables, counters, bar stools or anywhere else that was high enough to make his feet dangle. It always made him feel so small. It was a residue left over from his school days. As he'd advanced through the classes he'd grown smaller and smaller compared to his classmates.

The nurse started by drawing blood from all of them and sending an orderly to run them to the lab, before she removed the wadded up tissue from Reid's hand. The room had grown quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts and worries and all of them reluctant to discuss anything before they were alone.

"This is going to need stitches," the nurse said. "I'll send someone in in a minute. Just keep pressure on it." She disappeared.

Reid kept his eyes down, staring at his own feet, waiting for the inevitable. He could feel Hotchner's tense shoulder against his as they sat side by side, as well as he could feel everybody's eyes on him. They would expect him to have all the answers; they would expect him to be able to explain the unexplainable.

"Reid, what happened?" Gideon asked gently, just in time before the silence finally drowned them in their own misery.

Reid felt an overwhelming, petulant desire to answer 'nothing', but he knew that wouldn't fly well. So instead he settled for the ever neutral, "I don't know."

"Reid?" Hotchner's voice was soft beside him.

"Seriously, I have no idea. We were talking and everything was fine and then… then it wasn't. Morgan just went, uh, I don't know… kind of crazy."

"There's more than that, Reid. What were you talking about? What set him off?" Gideon asked.

"Basketball. We were talking about basketball… or he was. I was talking about pre-Colombian ball games. I guess he got a little upset over something I said."

"A little upset? Reid, when I walked in, he had his gun in your mouth! He was about to shoot you!" Hotchner said, also more than just a little upset.

"What? Oh god!" JJ gasped, looking horrified at Reid.

Reid winced at Hotchner to-the-point description, but he was also grateful that he wouldn't have to be the one to say the words.

"Yeah. Apparently he thinks I talk too much."

"Reid, no." Elle was sad for him; he could hear it in her voice. "He doesn't really think that. You know that. He wasn't himself."

_He wasn't himself._ He knew that that was meant to comfort him, but it didn't. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

He chanced a look at his teammates and was taken aback with the emotions they all displayed. They looked angry, worried and confused and it dawned on him that he should be too. Someone on their team had been attacked. Why and by whom they didn't know, but that should be their, his, priority right now. Someone had drugged Morgan. Morgan, with the warm laugh and never-ending patience. Morgan with the sharp mind and wicked sense of humor. Morgan with the unforgiving fingers and shiny gun… No. No, he shouldn't think about that. That was not the picture of Morgan he wanted in his mind. He wanted to go back to think of him only as a teammate. A teammate who had been hurt, and it was his obligation to find whoever had done this to him. He was the real victim, he was the target. Not Reid. He had just been at the wrong place in the wrong time. That was what he had to hang on to. He had to forget about what had happened in the round table room and concentrate on finding the unsub that was hurting his team. That was what he had to do. That was what he was going to do.

Gideon saw all the different emotions flickering over the young man's face and the determination it settled in to and he wasn't happy. Reid was going to bury this, which only meant that it would come back and haunt him in some other way. How were they ever going to fix this? Reid deserved so much more right now and he wondered if they would be able to reach him in time.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

After what felt like an eon of waiting, a doctor finally came to talk to them.

"Hello, I'm Thomas Anderson and I've been taking care of Agent Morgan."

"How is he? Is he alive?" Elle asked worriedly.

"For now."

_For now._ The words seemed to echo around the room, bouncing against the walls, coming at them from every direction. _For now_ wasn't good.

"Agent Morgan has suffered a massive overdose. We can't be a hundred percent sure what it is just yet, we're still waiting for his tox screen to come back," Dr. Anderson continued. "But from the symptoms reported, aggressiveness, hostility, confusion, seizures, etc, we are pretty sure it's some kind of amphetamine. We're doing everything we can to counter it, but I'm afraid that he's slipped into a coma. We've had to resuscitate him three times and he's been put on a respirator to help him breathe. Right now he's stable, more or less. We are preparing to move him to the ICU. Has his family been contacted?"

"They are on their way," Hotchner answered dully, noting that the rest of his team looked equally as shell-shocked as he was feeling.

Coma, what a scary word.

"Good. Now, it's highly unlikely that any of you would have been affected, as the symptoms would have manifested themselves by now. If you have ingested anything, the dosage would be too small to be dangerous. But we will of course be waiting for you blood work before we feel comfortable releasing you from the hospital. And you, young man, seem to need a little more care."

Dr. Anderson walked over to Reid and repeated the nurse's action of pulling away the paper towels. "Am I right in assuming that Agent Morgan is responsible for this?"

Reid nodded.

"Try not to take it personal. With this kind of overdose his actions would not have been the result of any conscious decisions. I'm sure he never meant to hurt you."

'No, just kill me,' Reid thought, but then he shook the negative thoughts away. He had to remember that Morgan was his friend despite… no, not despite. He was his friend, period.

"Why don't you sit back here," Dr. Anderson said, motioning Hotchner off the table and raising the head of it. "It'll keep your head still while I stitch you up."

Reid did as asked and stubbornly kept his eyes at the ceiling as he felt the doctor's gloved fingers probe his lip and then return with a syringe with a local anesthetic.

"Doctor, can you tell how the drugs were administrated? Was it in the food?" Hotchner asked as he stood with crossed arms and scrutinized the doctor's handiwork.

"Most likely, yes. We didn't find any puncture marks or drug residues around his nose. The quantity of the drug means that it would have to have been ingested only minutes before the reaction showed up, and I gather that you were all together shortly before it happened? That means that anything airborne would have to have been picked up by you too. Do you remember him eating or drinking anything that you didn't?"

The team replayed the lunch in their minds, seeing the food containers being passed around in their mind's eye. Who had eaten what, and how much?

"De socolate," Reid said.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Anderson took his hands and instruments away from Reid's mouth, letting him repeat his statement more audibly.

"The chocolate." He turned to his team. "After you left he ate a chocolate bar."

The team looked at each other.

"I'll call forensics," Elle said.

"And I'll call headquarters and have them empty out all the vending machines in the building, just in case," JJ said.

"I'll have a team sent over to Morgan's place," Hotchner said, "In case he brought it from home."

"I'll call Garcia," Gideon said, "And have her check other hospitals if more people have been admitted with the same symptoms. And you should probably have the team that goes to Morgan's house check out nearby grocery stores and such."

"Are you thinking product tampering?" Hotchner asked.

"It's a possibility. We can't just assume that this was an attack at Morgan. It could just as well be against the BAU, the FBI or the chocolate company."

"You're right," Elle said. "I'll have forensics identify and contact the manufactures of the candy bar."

"You know, you're not supposed to use cell phones in a hospital," Dr. Anderson reminded them gently. "When you go up to ICU, you will definitely have to turn them off."

He spent another couple of minutes with Reid's lip, before tying off the last stitch. "Can you open your mouth for me?"

Reid did and felt Dr. Anderson check his teeth. He probably thought Morgan had taken a swing at him. Then he shone a penlight into his mouth.

"There's a small laceration in the back of the mouth. It doesn't appear to be bleeding, but there is something…"

Without warning he put a swab into Reid's mouth, making him panic and gag. The doctor picked up on it immediately and pulled the swab out, apologizing. It was all very quick, but Reid's heart kept beating wildly for a minute more. The doctor looked quizzically at the substance on the swab.

"What is that?"

"Gun oil," Reid said darkly.

Dr. Anderson's eyes widened at the implication. "Oh my… Well, you mouth looks fine. You just have to be careful with your lip for awhile."

The nurse came in with an ice pack that Reid gratefully held to his mouth, hiding it from the rest of the world. Dr. Anderson turned to the rest of the team.

"You will have to stay here until we get your test results, after that you are welcome up in the ICU to see your friend. I will be in charge of his care. If you have any questions or just want to check in, you can reach me at this number." He handed Hotchner a business card.

"Is there anything you need while you wait?" the nurse asked.

"I…umm… Could you maybe get me a toothbrush?" Reid asked.

The nurse looked surprised with the unusual request, but promised to be back shortly with the item in question.

* * *

When he got the toothbrush he locked himself in the bathroom, glad to be out of the spotlight for a while.

He studied himself in the mirror and under the harsh fluorescent light he could see shadows on his neck and jaw where Morgan's fingers had left their marks, although he wasn't sure if they were visible to everyone or if they just existed in his mind. He then looked at his swollen lip and the black thread in it. It could be worse, he reflected. He could've been dead. He could have died today. The thought was both scary and sobering. And he still had the god-awful taste of gun oil in his mouth.

The nurse had been thoughtful enough to provide him with a travel-sized tube of toothpaste which he generously coated the toothbrush with. He scrubbed his teeth with a frenzy that threatened to wear the enamel clear off. He let the peppermint lather spread throughout his oral cavity and he relished the freshness it left behind as he spit it out and rinsed his mouth over and over again.

When he came out of the bathroom the others were waiting for him.

"Our blood tests came back negative," Elle said. "We can go see Morgan now."

The elevator ride was quiet and they all turned off their cell phones before exiting on the ICU floor. A smiling nurse led them to a private room across from the nurses' station.

It was a somber group who entered and gathered around the bed, except for Reid who stopped in the door and couldn't bring himself to walk any closer. He stood, staring. Morgan looked gray and dull. Lifeless. Not at all menacing.

Immediately Reid felt ashamed of thinking that, but he hadn't known at all what to expect, walking into the room. Morgan and he had been friends for a long time, now he didn't know how to look at him.

What had been going through his mind? What had changed? How could he make jokes one minute and want to kill him the next? Had it just been the amphetamine, or had the drugs enhanced something he was already feeling? Maybe Morgan really did think he was an annoying know-it-all. Or maybe he thought that on a subconscious level without even knowing it.

Reid edged away from the door, as to not hinder access to the room, but he kept his back to the wall, listening to his friends' murmur, a sound reserved for funerals and hospital rooms. Seeing a friend in this environment was always disturbing, something you never got used to.

Elle was faithfully clasping a hand that didn't clasp back.

"We'll make a schedule for sitting with him," Hotchner said quietly, "To make sure he's never alone."

"You'll do no such thing, Agent Hotchner."

They all turned around as a new voice broke through the hushed atmosphere.

"Mrs. Morgan," Hotchner greeted the woman standing in the door. "We didn't expect you so soon."

"Luckily I wasn't in Chicago when you called. I'm visiting my sister this week." Even though she was talking to them, she purposely strode through the room ignoring them, her eyes resting on her son. Behind her were an older couple, Mrs. Morgan's sister and her husband.

Gideon and JJ moved away from the bed to give them access.

"Mrs. Morgan, we're really, really sorry…" JJ began, but Mrs. Morgan cut her off,

"He's not dead yet. Have you caught the one who did this to my baby?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then I suggest you start looking instead of standing here gawking. You're welcome to visit, certainty, but I've sat by Derek's bedside through chickenpox, rubella, stomach flues, broken bones, and countless other ailments. It's what I do best. And now it's time for you to do what you do best."

Her eyes wandered between them, making eye contact with each and everyone of them, enjoining them the responsibility to find whoever had hurt her son.

Soon they had left the hospital room, even though a part of them would surely stay there until Morgan could leave with them.

They walked in silence, each resetting their brain from shock, anger and sadness to purposeful investigation mood.

In the parking lot Hotchner stopped.

"Are you okay to come back with us?" he asked Reid. "Or do you want to go home, get some rest?"

"What? No, no I'm fine. Really."

Hotchner thought it over. He didn't want to pressure Reid into doing something he wasn't really ready to, but the idea of having him somewhere where they could keep an eye on him was very appealing. Besides, they really needed his help.

"Okay. But if it gets to be too much, or you get tired, just say the word."

* * *

Back at headquarters they gathered in a lower level conference room. The round table room was still closed for forensic purposes and truth be told, none of them would feel very comfortable in there right now.

Gideon had tried to corner Reid, tried to get him alone several times already, but Reid had avoided him and made excuses. He knew what the other man wanted and he didn't share that want.

Preliminary reports were already waiting for them. Morgan's blood had showed that he had been dosed with a possibly lethal amount of very pure amphetamine. It had been matched with residues in the melted chocolate in the wrapper gathered from the round table room.

The forensic team that had gone to Morgan's place had found sixteen candy bars in a kitchen cupboard. They had been sent for analysis. They had also found miniscule scratches around the front door lock. Either Morgan had come home very drunk one night and had had problems finding the lock, or someone had picked it. More tests were being done on it.

The candy from the vending machines in the building hadn't been analyzed yet, but an ocular investigation hadn't discovered any tampering.

Suddenly a pale-faced Garcia stood in the door.

"How is he?" she asked with a trembling lower lip.

"Not good," Gideon answered her. "He's in a coma. The outcome is… uncertain."

A breath that could easily have been mistaken for a sob escaped her.

"What can I do?" Her eyes kept darting over Reid, without actually making contact. Reid tactfully pretended not to notice.

"Check his phone records, incoming and outgoing," Hotchner requested. "Cell phone, work phone and home phone. Look for anything that might be unusual or suspicious. Also check his e-mail. See if there have been any threats or any other discrepancies."

"On it." She disappeared back to her lab.

"Wouldn't he have told us if he we being threatened?" JJ wondered.

"Only if he took them seriously," Elle said darkly.

"Elle and Gideon," Hotchner continued. "You go to his house and look around. Check his mail, files, notes, everything you can think of. And bring his computer back to Garcia. JJ, check his desk, see if there's anything there."

"Press release?" she asked.

Gideon shook his head. "Too soon. We haven't got a profile yet."

"And if anyone asks?" JJ wondered.

"Standard non-direct answers," Hotchner said. "Reid and I'll start pulling case files, check for cases where Morgan has been more prominent or where threats have been made. And be careful, everybody. There's no way of knowing if the unsub's finished or if he's got it in for the whole team. Take your time, be thorough. And as soon as you are finished, come back here and help us with the files."

The team scattered. It was already evening and they had a lot of work ahead of them.

* * *

It was almost one-thirty in the morning. Much too late to cook anything, Reid thought as he stood staring into his refrigerator, the small light bulb making him appear deathly pale against the dark kitchen. He wasn't really in the mood to eat much anyway. He just wanted something to fill him up. He hadn't eaten since lunch, and he had thrown that up. He settled for a bowl of cereal.

Leaning against the counter he fixed his meal, not bothering to sit down for it. For a moment he just tiredly watched the cereal crackle in the cold milk, soaking up the liquid around them as he thought of the long, fruitless night behind him. Although they wouldn't actually be comparing notes until tomorrow, he'd gotten the feeling that no one would have anything substantial to report.

Then he filled his spoon and put it in his mouth.

…Morgan's hand gripping his jaw, forcing it to do his will. The hard, heavy feeling of something in his mouth that wasn't supposed to be there. The pain as it moved around. Something pushed against his gag reflex…

And he came back to himself, hunched over the sink, spitting and gagging, trying to convince his heaving stomach to calm down. He was breathing harshly, with cold sweat all over his body. What the hell just happened?

When he got his breathing back under control, he stood up shakingly from his hunched position and wiped a hand over his mouth. That had been powerful. But why now? He'd been drinking water and coffee all day without any problems. And he hadn't had any problems brushing his teeth either.

He eyed the bowl suspiciously. Milk and cereal, looking very innocent, completely normal. Why… Okay, maybe the why wasn't too difficult to figure out. He had after all studied psychology extensively. But suddenly being afraid of guns would have been much more logical.

He hesitatively filled the spoon again and held it up to his mouth. The sight of it didn't bother him, neither did the smell. A one time occurrence maybe? One could always hope. He resolutely emptied the spoon into his mouth again.

…The sound of metal scraping against teeth. The taste of gun oil and blood mixing together. His mouth was full, too full…

He once again found himself leaning over the sink, spitting and coughing. Apparently food was no longer for him. He dumped his soggy dinner in the sink, and instead poured himself a glass of milk. Liquids had been fine during the day, would it still? He put the glass to his mouth, fully expecting to once again find himself in a flashback, but instead the cool milk flowed over his palate, smoothly cleansing it of previous horrors.

Reid looked thoughtfully at the empty glass in his hand. 'Well, a day without food won't kill me,' he thought. 'Hopefully this will pass by tomorrow.'

He looked at the watch. He didn't relish the thought of going to bed. He couldn't imagine how he would be able to sleep at all after the day he'd had. He would twist and turn while his mind worked overtime, spinning around itself as the sheets became too warm to be comfortable. No, what he needed was a mind-numbing night in front of the TV. Hopefully his mind would grow tired with the lack of serious stimulation and he would fall asleep without even trying.

He settled himself on his couch under a blanket to wait for morning.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks a million for the reviews! You guys are the best!

* * *

The next morning Reid arrived at headquarters tired and hungry. At least he knew he wouldn't be the only one who had to function on a minimal amount of sleep today, the whole team looked equally haggard.

Before coming in he had experimented with lots of different food, but found that even the smallest bread crumb would grow and explode in his mouth, triggering another flashback. Drinking, however, didn't pose any difficulty… well very minor ones anyway. He had learnt the painful way that his orange juice now had to be without pulp. Not that his sore lip was very fond of orange juice right now anyway.

A toothbrush was fine, as long as it was coated with toothpaste. Without toothpaste it didn't work. The only thing he could think of to compare it with was rape victims' compulsive need of showering. Even when he was drinking coffee it felt like it was washing away miniscule residues of the gun. Liquids were good, and for now, they were his only source of nutrition.

Once he'd conceded to the fact that he wouldn't be able to eat he'd been sweating and shaking. He'd also made the decision that he couldn't let the others know. He would be kicked off the case so fast it would make his head spin. They would probably hospitalize him too, and the last thing he needed right now was to spend his days in the hands of a shrink. He couldn't let that happen.

No, he could fix this on his own. He was supposed to be smart, after all. He would read up on flashbacks and eating disorders and PTSD and whatever else he could think of and he would figure this out before it became a big problem.

That way he could still go to work everyday. He could make good on his vow of finding the unsub who was hurting his team. That way he could stay busy and wouldn't be trapped in his own head all day.

Elle smiled at him as he sat down next to her in their new conference room.

"Good morning, how are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he answered noncommittally, "How are you?"

She looked startled by the question, as if there had been an unexpected change of subject. "Umm… I'm fine."

"Good."

Hotchner stood by the head of the table.

"Okay," he began when he saw that they were all seated. "First things first. I've talked to both Dr. Anderson and Mrs. Morgan this morning. There's been no change over the night, the coma is still deep. Morgan' vitals are looking a little better though, and if they keep improving over the day they are hoping to be able to take him off the respirator by tomorrow. The guards we posted outside his room also reported a quiet night."

There was a moment of silence before Hotchner continued.

"Progress reports from yesterday. Anything?"

"We've found no indications of any existing threats," Elle said. "His mail, e-mail, phone records, internet history, everything looks normal."

"Forensics says that Morgan's lock has definitely been picked." JJ read out loud from the file in her hands. "Among the candy in his house, there were four other that were laced with amphetamine, all of them potentially lethal. There haven't been any drugs found in any other candy bars, neither from headquarters or the convenience stores around Morgan's place. So… it's now safe to assume that the attack was deliberately directed at Morgan."

"Or the team," Gideon reminded her. "Morgan might just have been the start."

Hotchner turned to Elle and Gideon. "Did you find anything in his house?"

"He owns more clothes than I do," Elle said.

"Elle…" Hotchner wasn't in the mood for levity.

"Sorry, but no. I mean, I haven't been there very much, but we couldn't see anything that stood out. He needs to vacuum and his plants are dying, but other than that, everything looked fine."

"We haven't found anything in the old case files," Reid informed the group. "Nothing that stands out anyway. There are always threats, but you know…"

The others nodded. They did know. A majority of the threats that were made against agents were from anger and desperation in the arresting moment, and those were very rarely taken seriously, even though they were always dutifully noted in the case file.

"I think we should go further back," Reid continued. "Morgan was in law enforcement a long time before he joined the BAU. And acts of revenge are always executed either immediately after the fact, when the perceived hurt is still fresh, or after a long time of simmering and planning. This unsub can just as likely be his first arrest as his last."

"That's a lot of people," Elle said.

"Yeah," Hotchner agreed. "So we need to build a profile that narrows it down. What can we tell from the M.O.?"

"The breaking in when no one was home and poisoning both suggests a woman." Gideon said. "Men are typically more hands-on when it comes to revenge. They want to see and feel it happen."

"Women are also more likely to take revenge on behalf of someone else," Elle added. "A child, parents, siblings, husbands… So we shouldn't limit our searches to cases where the unsub was female."

"That didn't exactly narrow anything down," JJ pointed out. "If the unsub can be either the perp or someone close to him or her, them we still need to look at every case Morgan's ever worked. What else is there?"

The room fell silent for a minute or so, until Hotchner started cursing in a very uncharacteristic display of emotions. When the others looked up at him with differing degrees of shock, he said angrily, "We're supposed to be good at this."

"We are good at this," Gideon told him firmly. "It hasn't been that long, we're making progress."

"Not that long? How do we know that? We don't know how long ago Morgan bought his chocolate. We have no idea how long ago the unsub planted the drugged candy bars. She could have been there yesterday or a month ago. She could be in South Dakota or even South Africa by now. And forensics didn't find any prints, or any physical evidence in Morgan's house, did they?"

He turned to JJ who was still clutching the forensic report. She quietly shook her head. There hadn't been anything there. But, "They weren't planted," she said.

"What?" Hotchner asked.

"The candy wasn't planted. They all belonged to the same batch. They were tampered with at the scene." She sounded almost scared when faced with Hotchner's outburst.

But Hotchner seemed to deflate, having vented his frustration. "I'm sorry," he said, sitting down and rubbing his hands over his face.

"It's okay, Hotch. We know…" Elle said, comforting him.

"Still, there isn't much to build a profile on," he said. "There are still too many uncertain variables."

"Well," Gideon said. "Then we'll just have to put the profiling on a backburner for now and look at this as FBI agents. There are other ways to solve a case. We follow the evidence and look for a suspect in the old cases. We'll break this." He said the last sentence with conviction in his voice.

"We're highly motivated anyway," Reid said quietly, but he wasn't sure if anybody heard him.

"We'll better start digging then," Hotchner said. "Reid, pull files from the early years, from graduating the academy and through his first assignments. Elle, you look into his undercover assignments, I'll take his years with the bomb squad. Gideon and JJ, you keep at our case files, see if there's anyone we need to be on the lookout for."

"There's still no evidence that there's any threat to the rest of the team," Elle pointed out.

"But that's not a risk I'm willing to take," Hotchner answered her. "We're checking everything. Get Garcia to help you if you have problems pulling the files."

"She's not here," JJ said.

"She's not at work?" Elle sounded surprised. She'd expected Garcia to put everything she had into this case.

"She went to the hospital," JJ said. "To sit with Morgan's mother."

* * *

Mrs. Morgan wasn't a woman who was easily frightened, or easily put down. She had married young and been widowed young, left alone with three devastated children. After that she had spent all her energy raising her children in a manner that would make sure that they were prepared for whatever the world threw at them. And so far it had been a success. Whatever hardships, whatever troubles, life had faced them with, in the end they had come out on the other side victorious. She had no doubt that her strong son would conquer this too. That didn't keep the worry away, however. Her little boy…

She looked up from her knitting when she heard a polite clearing of a throat behind her. Turning to the door she smiled politely at the nervous and anxious looking blonde in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Morgan, I'm Penelope Garcia, and I work with your son. We're actually rather good friends and…" She lost her train of thought as her eyes traveled over the many instruments taped to or inserted into Morgan's body.

"Well, come on in then, dear, don't just stand there."

Garcia warily walked towards the bed and stood hovering over it.

"It's okay to touch him," Mrs. Morgan told her.

"Does he… does he know we're here?"

"I'd like to think he does."

Garcia grasped the hand without an IV sticking into it and hugged it in both hers.

"Hey handsome," she said, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. "Are you planning on staying here long? 'Cause let me tell you, the office isn't nearly as fun without you. Elle just doesn't have your sense of humor, you know? So hurry up and get better, will you? We're all waiting for you."

Mrs. Morgan brought another chair close to the bed. She immediately liked this young woman; it would be good for Derek to have her here for a while.

Garcia gratefully sat down without releasing Morgan's hand.

Mrs. Morgan looked at her and smiled. "Did Derek ever tell you about the time he was twelve and brought two pet snakes home?"

Garcia shook her head, and then they let their warm and familiar voices wash over the comatose Morgan as they swapped stories from his life.

* * *

The morning progressed as the team spent hours on the phone cajoling archive clerks and watching their printers and fax machines as they spit out the sought-for information.

Reid kept a nervous eye on his watch and right before they normally started discussing what to order for lunch, he made excuses and left the office. He wandered around the grassy areas around the FBI building for about an hour, thinking hard about everything but the fact that he was famished.

When he came back and found the others in the midst of their meal, he lied and said that he had already eaten, even though the smell of food made his mouth water. Instead he twisted the top off a water bottle and joined them in discussing possible suspects.

"Here's one," Elle said, after swallowing a bite of her pasta salad. "Martin Rodriguez. Morgan busted him for murder, he shot his dealer. He got 25 to life. Apparently his mother made quite a scene in the court room and… no, wait. His mother's in a wheelchair after having a stroke right after the trial."

"Put it in the maybe pile anyway," Gideon suggested. "Maybe another relative wants double revenge, if they blame the stroke on the outcome of the trial." He sighed. They were having a really hard time excluding cases, there were too many possibilities.

They went round and round the table, all afternoon and evening, discarding some files, pegging others as possibilities. In the end, their list of possible suspects wasn't much smaller than the number of old case files they had gone through. They just didn't have enough information to rule anything or anyone out yet. They needed more, or another angle from which to look at the files.

Frustrated they broke for the night when it was nearing midnight and their stomachs reminded them that they hadn't had anything but coffee since lunch. Hotchner reluctantly sent them home, wishing them a better night than he was going to have. He still had vivid memories of the nightmare that had woken him up bathing in sweat last night. In his dream Morgan had been lying dead on the floor, next to a lifeless Reid who'd had the back of his head blown off. It had left him sleepless for the rest of the night. Luckily he'd been able to disguise it as paternal concern as Jack had been rather fussy. Haley had been glad to get the extra sleep.

He was quite amazed, however, with how well Reid seemed to be holding up. He'd been a little subdued during the day, not coloring their discussions with his usual ramblings. Although, almost being killed by a friend for 'talking too much' was due to put a damper on anyone.

He'd also withdrawn from the group, having chosen to eat lunch by himself rather that with them. Hotchner knew that Reid had had trust issues in the past. Was this another one of those? Was he uncertain about the team? If Morgan could go nuts and hurt him, was he afraid that the others could too? Or did he just want to lick his wounds in private? Or was it something else entirely? Hotchner was having a hard time reading him right now. He wasn't sure if he should push him into anything either, now that he seemed to be doing so well. He should probably have been in therapy already. Hell, the whole team should have gotten crisis counseling by now. He promised himself that he would call the department psychiatrist first thing in the morning… if he could remember to.

* * *

Back in his apartment Reid glanced at the turned-off laptop on his coffee table as he passed it. He was supposed to have researched flashbacks and how to counter them today, but there just hadn't been any time. Not that he begrudged that fact. Finding the unsub had to be his first priority, there was no way around it. And now it was late and he had a headache. And since taking pills was out of the question, he didn't think it would be a good idea to strain his eyes in front of a flickering screen.

'Well, two days without food won't kill me,' he thought as he headed off for a few hours of sleep.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

When his alarm rang the next morning, Reid felt like he'd been sleeping on rocks. His whole body ached with tiredness. And yet, he'd slept soundly from the moment he went to bed until the alarm rang.

As he was shaving, his hands shook ever-so-slightly, causing a small nick just below his ear, but he put that off on the fact that he hadn't had his morning coffee yet. Besides, he had more important things to think about. He had an idea. He wasn't sure if the thought had come to him before he went to sleep, or if it had come during the night, but he had high hopes that the plan in its simplicity would pay off.

Wanting to get the earliest start possible, the team had agreed to meet at a diner to have breakfast while going over the latest progress. Reid was the last one there, and he ordered a coffee to go over the counter before sitting down with the rest of the team.

"Hey, Reid, we already ordered," Elle said.

"That's okay," Reid said dismissively. "Listen, I had an idea. What if Morgan isn't the first victim? Just because none of us has been hurt doesn't mean that Morgan was the first. We're already checking his old cases, so…"

"You think we should check his old partners and teams too?" Hotchner finished for him. "That's a good idea, Reid."

"But we haven't found any other murders with the same M.O. in any databases," JJ said.

"Maybe there aren't any," Reid said, trying to convey his idea. "Maybe she isn't a psychotic serial killer, but a motivated one. If the revenge is personal, then maybe it doesn't matter how the victims are killed. If she's smart, she's consciously using different M.O.'s to avoid being caught. But, I don't think we should check just on old partners. I think we should start looking into suspicious deaths within the law enforcement and the judicial systems in all jurisdictions and districts where Morgan's worked over the years and then cross-reference them against all cases and trials Morgan's been apart of."

Elle gaped at him. "Do you have any idea of how much work that would entail? How many people that is?"

"Does that really matter?" Reid asked.

"No, of course not. I just mean that it's going to take a lot of time, it's going to take a lot of time away from following other leads."

"Which is why I'm going to start right now. I'll go check in with Garcia. She'll be able to do this faster than any of us. I'll see you back at the office," Reid said and stood up as the others' food was brought to the table.

"Aren't you gonna eat breakfast?" Elle called after him.

"I'll do it tonight," he called back, already half-way to the door.

Elle turned to the others. "Was he even listening?" she asked with an upturned eyebrow. She only got shrugs for answers.

--

Garcia was not her jovial self. Her friendship with Morgan was maybe not easily defined, but it was real and it was strong. She was not taking this well. She had deep, dark circles under her eyes, testament to her late nights either in front of her computer screens squeezing every last bit of information out of them or seated in a lonely hospital room, as Morgan's aunt had dragged his mother out to get a good night's sleep at their place. She'd sat there, listening to Morgan's respirator wheeze air into his lungs, and thought desperate thoughts she'd hoped she'd never had to think. Her eyes were permanently red-rimmed as if she was having a hard time keeping her tears away, and she hadn't called anyone by an endearing epithet since the incident.

And she was uncomfortable around Reid. She knew it wasn't really his fault, but the black stitches in his lip and the thumbprint on his cheek bore clear testament of something Morgan would never do, of someone who Morgan would never be. Not her Morgan. She wanted to pretend that it had never happened and she was dead scared that she would lose Morgan over it. This place wouldn't be the same without him. A lot of things wouldn't be the same.

Reid had easily picked up on her discomfort and was giving her all the space he could, but the information he had her looking for was important, and she needed help to sift through it all, so he had spent all morning in her tense-filled office. Only when they talked about the case could they keep up the appearance of normalcy and therefore all other subjects were taboo. After having agreed on their search perimeters and gotten most of Garcia's special information shortcuts running red-hot in their haste to obey their queen bee, they had settled down quietly to analyze the lists they were being fed and delve deeper into those subjects who looked interesting and promising.

The others had been in to and fro during the day to check on their progress and update them on theirs, giving them more data to feed into their search and in return Reid had heaped them full of names to be checked out more thoroughly.

JJ had gone to the hospital directly after breakfast and had returned with the joyous news that even though Morgan was still in a coma, he'd been taken off the respirator and was breathing on his own. There had been some neurological tests done to determine if the coma was a product of brain damage, brought on by the massive onslaught of the amphetamine, but they had found no such signs. Things were looking up and the doctors were hopeful.

When Reid ventured out of the computer lab he found the rest of the team in the conference room, having lunch. He hadn't realized what time it was or he would've kept away a while longer. He thumped a huge stack of papers down on the table.

"Hey, Reid. We ordered for you too," Elle said, pointing to an unopened bag of hamburger and fries.

"Thanks," he said, even as the smell made his stomach sit up and take notice. "But Garcia and I have already eaten." He looked discreetly behind him to make sure Garcia wasn't there to bust his lie. In fact, they had taken a break so that she could go out and buy lunch for herself and Mrs. Morgan on her way to the hospital.

"What's in the cup?" he asked.

"Ice tea," JJ answered, handing him a Styrofoam cup.

He sipped the slightly bitter liquid before starting his report. "I'm beginning to think that dying of natural causes isn't at all very natural when you make your living upholding the law. But then again, that depends on what you call natural. Most forms of cancer do originate spontaneously in the body as do many other diseases…"

"Reid," Hotchner said. "Just tell us what you've been doing, please."

"Right. Garcia and I have been compiling the relevant employee records and cross-referenced them with autopsy reports, as suspicious deaths are always autopsied. We've eliminated all diseases and conditions that can't be faked or doctored, such as cancer, for example, and then we have started cross-reference those against unsolved cases and open investigations. We aren't quite finished, we still have the early years left, but as we speak we have two-hundred or so cases to look over. I've already started distributing them to you, and when you finish with the one you're doing, feel free to help yourself to a new one." He gestured to the pile of papers in front of him.

"I haven't really had time to start going over them, though. Have you?"

"I have," Gideon said. "I haven't found any that fits the profile of a female serial killer yet. Most of these unsolved cases are only unsolved because the suspect is on the run, but many times the police do have evidence linked to an identified suspect."

"Those are easy to rule out then," Hotchner said, feeling slightly content. Two-hundred were an awful lot, but considering the amount of case files they had been sifting through yesterday, it was definitely a significant improvement. "Anyone else?"

"I'm still working on the threat assessment," Elle said, "And I'd like to continue, if nothing else than to be able to warn other potential victims."

"I've been helping her," JJ said. "I've been contacting former partners and teams and picked their brains for potential suspects, but so far none of them have thought of anything that has them worried."

"You can start on Reid's files too, JJ," Elle told her. "I can manage the rest of the old threats by myself, they are mostly a formality anyway."

"Are you sure?" JJ asked.

When Elle nodded JJ leaned over the table and helped herself to several sheets of paper from Reid's pile.

They finished lunch at record speed and JJ and Hotchner split Reid's order of fries as well. Before they separated Hotchner informed them that the department psychiatrist would be there at four p.m. and that their presences were mandatory. He looked right at Reid when he said that and was unnerved by the way he refused to make eye contact and in fact tried to look like he hadn't been listening. So Hotchner demanded a verbal confirmation from each and every one of them that they would be back in the conference room by four before he dismissed them.

--

"Are you cold?" Elle asked as she and Reid were walking side by side back to their desks.

"Huh?"

"You haven't taken off your coat all day."

"I haven't?" Reid looked down on himself and found that she was right, but shrugged it off.

"It's winter," he said as a way of explanation.

But when he came to his desk he took the coat off and immediately felt a shiver of cold. He would have to dress more warmly tomorrow. Funny how he'd never noticed how cold the office was before, but he couldn't very well put his coat back on, not yet, Elle would notice. Right now, inconspicuous was to be his lead word.

--

Two heart attacks, a spousal abuse report, a lawyer shot by a client and an alleged hunting accident later, Reid stretched and sighed. This would be so much easier on Garcia's computers. He wondered if she was back yet. She'd said she'd only have a quick visit. This looked promising, though. A DA with cut break lines and no suspects… He dove back into his work.

Across from him Elle was on the phone with the parole officer of a recently released murderer and pyromaniac who had put forward threats to the entire bomb squad that Morgan had belonged to. The parole officer, however, was claiming that the man was a born-again Christian and posed no threat to anyone. Also, the rest of the bomb squad had been notified and they were all alive and well, except for a broken leg acquired during a mountain climbing weekend. They were at least now considered duly warned.

Gideon came down into the bullpen with a mission in mind. A mission that had already been stumped at so many occasions by an unwilling and stubborn young agent, but this time he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Hey," he said, perching on the edge of Reid's desk.

"Hey," Reid replied, giving him only a quick glance before returning his focus to his work. "I haven't found…"

"So, how are you doing?" Gideon interrupted him.

Reid put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, laced his hands behind his head and met Gideon's eyes with a hint of challenge in the air.

"So this isn't a social call?" he remarked.

"Reid…"

"No, it's okay. I'm doing fine, Gideon. Really."

"Really? How are the nightmares?"

"I'm not having any. I'm sleeping pretty well. Maybe I'm just too tired to dream." That was actually true. He'd fallen into bed last night and been asleep before his head had hit the pillow. If he'd had nightmares, he didn't remember them, even though his crumpled sheets spoke their own language. His own theory was that because his anxieties had found another outlet, it was possible for him to sleep all night.

"So you're doing fine?"

"I'm doing fine."

"I'm not so sure that's a good thing."

"Excuse me?" Reid frowned, bringing his hands down and sitting up straight.

"Reid, even though it wasn't his fault, a very good friend of yours did…"

"I don't want to talk about it." Reid's voice turned cold as he stood up and started gathering his things.

"Reid…"

"I said no. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if Garcia is back yet."

He walked away, leaving Gideon still sitting on his desk, looking after him with thoughtful eyes.

"It'll be okay, Gideon. He'll come around," Elle said, seated at her desk behind his back. She had watched the exchange with a lump of unease in her stomach. "When he's ready to talk, you know he'll come to you now that Morgan's…" She broke off, not knowing how to describe Morgan and Reid's relationship anymore. "Besides, the department psychiatrist will be here this afternoon."

"And do you think we'll get Reid to go and see him?" Gideon asked rhetorically.

--

True to Gideon's prediction, four o'clock came around and Reid was a no-show. When he showed up a couple of hours later, with dust in his hair, he claimed that he had completely lost track of time as he'd been doing manual research in the FBI's library and archive.

Hotchner was working very hard to keep his temper in check as he called Reid into his office. Pointing to the chair he wanted Reid to sit in, he himself refrained from going around the desk to sit in his usual chair and instead sat in the other visitor's chair, facing Reid. Right now he wanted to be a friend, or at least a friendly boss, rather than just a boss.

"So what happened? Where did you go?"

"I told you, I went to the…"

"…library, yes you told us. But I'm having a hard time seeing it as a coincidence, Reid. I think it's fairly obvious that you didn't want to see Dr. Ramirez. Why not? You've met him before, right? After the Dowd and Bryar incidents, right?"

"Sure. I've got nothing against Dr. Ramirez. He's a great guy. Good at his job…" Reid said, fiddling with the zipper on his coat.

"So, was it us? Didn't you want to talk while we were there? Because you could have just asked for a private session."

"I don't see why it's so important," Reid said, still looking everywhere but at him.

Hotchner sighed and resisted the urge to lean over and grab Reid's hands to keep them still. Why was he wearing his coat anyway? The library was in the same building, he wouldn't have had to go outside.

Of course he realized that this would be much harder for Reid than for the rest of them. He hadn't forgotten the look of total disbelief and raw fear on Reid's face as he'd stood there with a gun in his mouth. Which is why he found it so difficult to understand why Reid wouldn't accept a little professional help.

"Look," Hotchner said pointedly. "It's protocol, and you know that just as well as I do. And I think it'll be good for you. I thought it was very liberating to get to talk it out in a non-judgmental environment. We all did. But we missed you. It's important to us too, you know, to know how you're doing."

"I'm doing just fine, Hotch, you don't have to worry. But if it's that important to you, I'll go see Dr. Ramirez."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, because I took the liberty to make an appointment for you tomorrow morning, 9 o'clock, in his office. And I will know if you don't keep it."

Reid looked at him with a pained, fed-up look and Hotchner fleetingly wondered if Reid had ever had the chance of rebelling as a teenager, or if he had that to look forward to. Hotchner felt a need to smooth things over.

"Listen," he said, leaning forward and putting a hand on Reid's knee. "We've made some great progress today. You've done some exceptional work. Why don't you take an early night and try and relax. Have a nice dinner, get some real sleep? We'll start fresh in the morning."

"It's not necessary," Reid said, slightly panicked at the thought of his lonely and quiet apartment. "I can stay a little longer."

"No, go home. I will. It's time we had a little break. We've been at it for almost three days now. Go home, Reid. You deserve it."

So Reid went. As he sat in front of his TV he thought of all the set dinner tables across the country and envied those lucky enough to be able to enjoy them. He thought of Hotchner and Haley's dining room table with flickering candles and wine glasses. He thought of how Elle and JJ would go out for dinner together at times, both claiming to be too lazy to cook. Gideon would cook though, he thought. He envisioned the man in his kitchen, surrounded by soft jazz music, chopping vegetables. Then he thought of the takeout Garcia would be bringing Mrs. Morgan at the hospital. The thought of food was becoming torturous, so he had a soda and then he drank water until he felt full.

But at least he was not without distraction. He had to figure out what to say and how to act when he met Dr. Ramirez in the morning. The doctor was a smart man, good at his job, but Reid had to be better. He had to pull the wool over his eyes enough to be able to stay on the case, or all his sacrifices up 'til now would be for nothing.

He couldn't let that happen.

--

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: **Sorry about the long wait for updates. There's just no time to write anymore. Hey, does anyone want to volunteer to come do my dishes to free up some more time? :) Anyway, thanks for the wonderful reviews! It's always great to hear from you.

* * *

"You are in a hurry," Dr. Ramirez noted from his comfortable armchair.

"Why do you say that?" Reid wanted to know.

"Because, when I asked you to sit down, you sat on the armrest of the chair."

Reid looked down and guiltily slid into the armchair turned towards Dr. Ramirez.

The office was warm and inviting. Dr. Ramirez never talked to his clients, as he liked to call them, from the other side of an impersonal desk, instead choosing to use the more comfortable group of leather sofa and armchairs. Dr. Ramirez himself was the very epitome of his profession. Being in his mid-fifties, with a bald head, a beard and a tweed jacket, the only thing missing was a glowing pipe, but he'd given up smoking years ago.

"So, why are you in a hurry?" he asked casually.

"As you well know, we're in the middle of a big case. We're trying to find the unsub that hurt Morgan. Don't you think that's important?" Reid said, sounding defiant.

"Of course it is. And I can understand why you want to be there, but I'd like to think that this is important too and I can't help but wonder why you didn't show up for our appointment yesterday."

"Your priorities aren't the same as mine, doctor."

"And what of the priorities of your team? They missed you at the session yesterday."

Reid sighed and looked down, figuring that he'd played the hostility card to its end. Time to start cooperating.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just didn't want them to think any less about me," he said, looking as pitiful as he could.

"And why do you think they would do that?"

"Because I screwed up. I should've been able to do something. I should've helped him."

"Agent Morgan? How?"

Reid got up and walked over to the window, looking out. This morning's sleet had turned into a steady drizzle, but the wind had picked up and was beating the light rain against the window.

"I was standing with my back to him… I was _lecturing _him. If I'd been having a normal conversation with him, then I would've been looking at him when I talked to him…"

"What do you think would've changed? You didn't know the candy bar was drugged, how could you've stopped him from eating it?"

Reid turned back towards him, a hint of mist in his eyes, which had gotten there from him pulling out a hair on his arm when he'd been turned away.

"Maybe he'd still have eaten the candy bar and maybe he wouldn't… or maybe he would've shared it with me. Then it wouldn't have hit him so hard… he wouldn't be in a coma. The risk of brain damage would've been much less. Or if I'd just been looking at him when I talked, letting him get a word in every once in awhile, then I would've seen that something was wrong. I could've called for help. He could've gotten help sooner."

"That's pure speculation, Dr. Reid. No one can predict what could've happened. You say you wanted to help him, to get him help. Perhaps you also wish that you could've stopped him?"

"From eating the candy bar?" Reid asked, playing dumb, knowing full well that that wasn't what Dr. Ramirez was saying.

"From attacking you. How do you feel about that?"

Reid shrugged. "In his condition, he couldn't really help himself. I'm sure he never wanted to hurt me. Morgan's one of the good guys."

"And does that make it right?" Dr. Ramirez asked.

"Well," Reid said, putting on the submissive persona he'd often encountered when interviewing victims of domestic abuse. "I was kind of baiting him. Let's face it, I can be rather annoying on a good day. If I'd been a normal person…" He bit his lip, wondering if he'd gone too far, but Dr. Ramirez simply looked ponderingly at him.

"Do you think he had the right to pull a gun on you?"

"Of course not, I'm just saying that under the circumstances… normally he'd just have teased me a bit, but with that much amphetamine in his body… I can't really blame him. I would've probably wanted to shut me up as well, had I been him. It wasn't his fault."

He chanced a look at the doctor under his eyelashes and congratulated himself. He had him just where he wanted him.

* * *

Reid left Dr. Ramirez's office feeling rather pleased with himself. The session had gone on for another hour or so and Reid had spent it weaving his story expertly around the emotions Dr. Ramirez was expecting him to have. In the end Dr. Ramirez had diagnosed him as a friend feeling guilt over a situation he had no control over. A mild case of survivor's guilt, he'd called it. The keyword being mild. Mild meant he could stay on the case. Mild meant no enforced sick leave, just some emotional exercises and a follow up session in a week.

It wasn't as if he'd outright lied, it was more like obfuscation. He'd just embellished some things and downplayed others. He wasn't very proud of having manipulated Dr. Ramirez like that, he just had to make sure the meeting would end the way he wanted it to. Besides, Dr. Ramirez felt like he'd helped him. That should count for something. He would probably have to go up and apologize to the psychiatrist once this was over, and after that he doubted the doctor would ever consent to see him as a patient again. But he'd just done what he'd considered necessary right now.

On his way up to the BAU floor, Reid joined Hotchner in the elevator. Hotchner was still in his slightly damp overcoat, folding an umbrella. He looked up as Reid got on.

"You've been to Dr. Ramirez, I see," Hotchner said, noting the number of the floor.

"I have," Reid confirmed noncommittally.

"How did it go?"

"I'm not committed, am I?" Reid answered nonchalantly.

"Reid," Hotchner said, sounding very disapproving.

"Sorry, bad joke."

"I'm coming from the hospital," Hotchner volunteered.

"Oh?"

"He's doing better all the time."

"That's good."

"Mrs. Morgan asked about you…" At that moment the elevator stopped on their floor and the doors opened. On the other side was Elle.

"Oh good, you're here," she said, tugging Reid along with her. "I think I've found a potential victim, and so does Gideon. Didn't you say you had one too? Want to see if they fit together?"

"Sure."

Soon they were huddled over the files, making comparisons, before Reid took them to Garcia to make sure every last detail got squeezed out of them.

* * *

"Hey, Reid. JJ and I are going out for lunch, do you want to come?" Elle asked him as he

ventured out of the computer lab to find a fresh water bottle. As all liquids containing large amounts of sure-to-stick-to-all-surfaces sugar or those not securely contained in a twist top bottle were strictly forbidden in Garcia's office, he hadn't had anything else all morning.

"No thanks, I had a big breakfast. I'll just grab something from the break room later."

"Are your sure?"

"Absolutely. You have fun though. Bring me back some decent coffee, okay?"

"Okay, see you later."

"Bye."

* * *

When the team trickled back into the office after lunch, Reid was ready to make his presentation.

Elle came into the conference room last, distributing lidded Styrofoam cups of coffee.

"How is he?" Gideon asked, and Reid realized that she and JJ had been to the hospital on their way back.

He felt a stab of guilt. They had all take time to sit with Morgan, before and after work and on their lunch breaks. All but him. He couldn't bring himself to go back into that hospital room. He wouldn't be able to touch Morgan, and what would he say? How would he talk to Morgan's mother? Did she know what had happened? What her son had done?

"They're hopeful. They think he'll wake up soon," Elle said.

That was great news, and another ounce dissipated from the burden on their shoulders. Only Reid didn't completely share their joy. Of course he wanted Morgan to get better, but at the same time, the coma posed a status quo he wasn't quite ready to give up yet.

"Judge, DA, defense lawyer." Reid said, to break the spell. On the whiteboard he'd fastened photos of all three victims, and he pointed to each photo as he spoke. "All active in the Chicago judicial system when Morgan was working there, all of them dead within the last twelve months under suspicious circumstances."

"But they weren't drugged, right?" Elle asked, having been the one who found the judge's file.

"No, the M.O. is different in all three cases," Reid said. "Michael Trenton was a judge with political ambitions. Getting ready to launch a mayor candidacy actually. The gas valve in his house was broken, he died in his sleep. His wife found him as she was coming home after a weekend at her sister's. The police suspected foul play, but they could never prove anything.

"Lester Holt was only a prosecutor when Morgan worked there, but became a D.A. a little over a year ago. He lost control of his car and crashed into a tree. Forensics found that his break lines had been cut. The police never found a suspect, the case is still open.

"Now, the defense lawyer gets interesting. His name was Benjamin Barber, known to his friends as Benny-B. He was a public defender, before he managed to get hired by a big-name firm and he was on the fast track to make partner. He was divorced and had shared custody of his kids with his ex-wife. They lived with him every other week. The day he picked his kids up for his week with them, he came home and reported a break-in, having seen someone run away from his house. Nothing was stolen, but he said that things in his basement had been moved around. A week later, the night he'd brought the kids back to his ex-wife, he died after falling down the basement stairs and breaking his neck. The police found a trip wire at the top of the stairs and a smashed light bulb in the stair. The ex-wife was a suspect for awhile, but they ruled her out. They never caught anyone."

"Well," Elle said. "The unsub does seem to go out of her way not to hurt others than her intended target. The weekend the judge's wife was gone, the aborted attempt when the lawyer's kids were at home... She did leave the candy in Morgan's house. She probably expected him to eat them there. If he had, Re… I mean, no one else would've been hurt."

"And if he had," Reid reminded her, "No one would have been able to save him." He'd never thought Morgan's assault on him would turn out to be a good thing.

"What about Holt, then?" JJ asked. "Cut break lines, he could've killed a lot of people."

Gideon, who had been the one to identify Holt as a potential victim, shook his head. "He was at his hunting cabin, which stood on top of a hill in the middle of the forest. There wasn't another car around for miles."

"She's very careful," Elle said, "And very well-informed. She must've been keeping her victims under surveillance, studied them, learned their habits."

"All the murders were passive," Gideon noted. "She set them up beforehand so she didn't have to be on site for any of them. She didn't have to get her hands bloody. She obviously feels righteous in her actions, but she does not take any pleasure from them. It's as if she sees them as a necessary evil. I think we can safely conclude that she's taking revenge on someone else's behalf. Personal revenge tends to more tortuous for the victims. These men died quickly."

The others nodded, agreeing. Finally, something to build a profile on. This was what they knew. This was what they were good at. Nothing told them as much about an unsub as her victims.

"She's careful and methodical," Hotchner continued. "She would be respected and well-liked at her workplace, but she's not in a management position, most likely she has an administrative position. She'll work for a big company, where she can be well-known to a small section of the employees, but where she can still be anonymous to the rest, which is just the way she wants it to be. She doesn't want to stand out."

"Single," Elle filled in. "The judge's dog was found on the porch, even though the wife said he always slept indoors. The unsub has pets, probably as a surrogate for a family of her own. She's very family oriented. She's probably in her late thirties to early forties and is feeling like the chance of a family of her own has slipped her by. She's killing on behalf of a family member, a father, a brother, an uncle perhaps? She's killing for him because family is everything, and these men, Trenton, Holt, Barber and Morgan, they have taken hers away, one way or the other. She can't live with that."

They suddenly all quieted at the same time, milling over the profile. What else to add? What could they say with certainty at this point?

In the quiet room the sudden rumble of Reid's stomach was quite audible and he smiled embarrassed, folding his arms protectively over his stomach. Hotchner raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I'm fine. I just missed breakfast today," Reid said with a sheepish grin.

Elle looked at him, surprised.

"But you told me..:"

"I'll go get something after the meeting," Reid promised, cutting Elle off.

"See that you do," Hotchner admonished him.

"How many of Morgan's cases were the victims all involved in?" JJ asked.

"We've found five different cases." Reid started handing out thick files of photocopies to the others. "Our unsub's in here somewhere."

"The most recent case is from almost eight years ago, the oldest ten years ago." Elle noted.

"And the murders have happened within the last year. So that's our timeframe," Hotchner said.

"Okay, everybody grab a case and look into it. We'll meet back here in three hours," Gideon said, dismissing them.

* * *

Reid ponderingly looked over his choices. Soda, juice and water bottles. He didn't even bother to look at the other vending machines. He finally settled for juice. Vitamins are vitamins, right? he thought, and then he cringed. He was even lying to himself now. He bought two juice packs and swallowed the first in one big gulp. He could swear he heard it splash as it landed in his stomach, which immediately cramped up in shock, making him double over as he waited for the pain to dissipate. He wished feverishly that no one would come in and find him like this. But the cramps subsided without him being discovered.

The second juice box he sipped much slower.

Elle cornered Reid as soon as he stepped foot outside the break room.

"You told me you had a big breakfast today," she said, glaring at him.

"I did."

"But you told Hotch that you'd missed breakfast."

"A slip of the tongue," Reid said quickly. "I meant to say lunch, that I missed lunch. After you guys left I got caught up and forgot about it."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Elle looked accusingly at him.

"Really, I had breakfast and missed lunch. I swear. Besides I've eaten now, haven't I?" As if to prove his point he sucked the last of the juice from the carton with a slurping sound, before throwing it in the trash.

"It's nice of you to worry, Elle, but completely unnecessary. I'm fine. I just missed lunch."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Everything's great… well maybe not great, but you know…"

Elle still looked slightly suspicious as he left her.

* * *

They met back in the conference room, tired but hopeful. They were closing in on their unsub, and they knew it.

"Well," Elle started. "We can write my case off. The defendant got off. It was an attempted murder, but the prosecution failed to prove it. I could check into the victim, if he's feeling vengeful, but seeing as how the defendant is alive and kicking, why would someone want to kill our victims?"

"In my case the defendant got off on probation and community service," Reid said. "It was a first offense, breaking and entering. He did end up in prison later on, but that was in a different state. I can't see anyone being interested in revenge on his behalf."

"My case features a nineteen-year-old who was involved in an armed robbery against a liquor store, which ended in murder as the cashier was killed," Hotchner said. "Even though the kid wasn't the shooter, he refused to give his accomplishes up and they were never caught. He was sentenced to eight years for robbery and accomplice to murder. Got probation after five and…" he grimaced, "…hanged himself in his bedroom eight months later. It's a definite possibility and we'll look into his relatives."

"Mine's another bust," JJ said. "Possession of drugs with intention to sell, first offense. Got six months and is now living a happy life with a wife and two kids. Owns a restaurant with his brother. Has stayed out of trouble ever since."

"I've got a cop killer," Gideon said. "Life without parole. Big family, well-connected. We'll check into it, but I don't think it's him. Why would someone wait eight years over a lifer?"

"Well, this is real progress," Hotchner said, feeling pleased with his team. "Someone needs to pick the brains of the investigators in the other murders, and the others will look into the families of Henry Arden and…" He looked to Gideon for the name of the cop killer.

"…Martin Fells," he supplied.

"Right. Good job, gu…" Hotchner's cell phone rang, cutting him off mid-sentence. He answered.

"Yes?"

A moment later he looked up at the others.

"Morgan's awake."

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

The ride to the hospital was a quick one, and while Garcia was practically running through the hospital corridors, Reid was careful to stay at the back of the group.

When they came into Morgan's room he was alone, his mother having gone to the cafeteria to give them some privacy.

"Hey…" Morgan smiled tiredly at them, his voice rough from disuse. He let his eyes sweep over them.

"Wow," he said. "You guys look like crap." Not that he looked much better himself. His skin tone was still a pasty gray and he'd lost weight. There were some small tremors in his body that he couldn't control and there were pain evident in the crinkles around his eyes.

"Well, some of us have actually been working, while you've been lying here, resting your lazy little butt," Elle said, a giant smile on her face.

"How're you feeling?" Hotchner asked as they moved around the bed, all except Reid who hovered by the door.

"I'm alive. From what I've heard, that's an accomplishment," Morgan said.

"Damn right it is. Don't scare us like that again, cupcake," Garcia said, the widest grin on her face as she leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"So what happened? The doctor said I suffered from an overdose. How's that possible?"

"It was in your bloody candy bar. I've told you over and over again that they are bad for your health," Elle said, but at the same time she pulled several chocolate bars out of her shoulder bag and put them on the bedside table. "For later," she said.

"How did they manage that? And who are they, by the way?" Morgan asked, hating the feeling of being so out of the loop.

"We don't know why. We have a few suspects," Hotchner said, "As to how, the unsub broke into your house and laced several of your candy bars with amphetamine. You really buy those things in bulk, don't you?"

"Well, it's cheaper, saves time. I think I remember eating a candy bar… We had lunch while putting the case to bed, right? I had a candy bar afterwards, didn't I?"

"You don't remember anything after that?" Reid asked incredulously, taking a step closer to the bed.

"Hey, man," Morgan said, smiling at him. What are you doing all the way over there?" Then he saw the looks the team was giving each other. "What? What happened afterwards?"

"Nothing," Reid said quickly. "You just collapsed. Scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry, man. Hey, what happened to your lip?"

Reid just shrugged.

"So…" Morgan dragged the word out, clearly suspecting that they were hiding something from him. "You said something about suspects?"

"Yes. Do you feel up to some brainstorming?" Hotchner asked.

"I suppose."

And with that Hotchner decided to keep it as short as possible.

"Do you remember Michael Trenton, Lester Holt and Benjamin Barker?" he asked.

"Benny-B? Sure. Everybody knows Benny-B. And Trenton's a judge, isn't he? And Holt… Holt's a prosecutor in Chicago, right? Yeah, I remember those guys, but I haven't seen them in years. Why?"

"I'm sorry, but they are dead," JJ said sympathetically, putting her hand on his arm.

"Dead?" Morgan repeated incredulously.

"Yes, killed by the same unsub that tried to kill you," Gideon said.

Morgan looked confused. "Maybe it's the drugs, or maybe I'm just slow on the uptake, but why? I haven't seen or heard from any of them since I left Chicago."

"Listen," Gideon said, seeing that Morgan was beginning to wilt. "It's getting late. So how about if I come back tomorrow morning and catch you up on what we've got. But, before we go, do you remember Martin Fells or Henry Arden?"

Morgan's face darkened. "Yeah, I remember Fells. He killed my captain. Did he get out?"

"No, he's still incarcerated," Elle said. "We're looking for a woman taking revenge on behalf of a loved one."

"Then you're barking up the wrong tree," Morgan said, shaking his head slowly. "Fells' family couldn't wash their hands of him quickly enough. What did you say the other guy's name was?"

"Henry Arden," Gideon supplied.

"I'm…I'm not sure. It sounds familiar, but…"

"Why don't you sleep on it, tell me in the morning." Gideon motioned to the others to wrap their visit up.

"It's good to have you back with us," JJ said, squeezing his arm, and the others nodded in agreement, saying their own goodbyes.

"We'll go back to work for another couple of hours," Hotchner said, "but Garcia's gonna stay here with you tonight. Call if you think of anything, if you have any questions, if you need anything. Just… just call us. We'll stop by whenever we can."

They left, leaving only Garcia behind.

"So, you're supposed to take care of me, huh? Did you happen to bring a nurse uniform?" Morgan asked.

"Only the hat, honey pie. Only the hat."

* * *

Outside the door Gideon waved the others on, while taking a hold of Reid's arm to keep him where he was. Reid obediently stayed, but he refused to look at Gideon. He already knew what he was going to say.

"He's going to find out sooner or later, Reid. We're going to have to tell him."

"Why? What good will it do?"

"He deserves to know, and you know it. This isn't going away. He's going to be fine. Sooner or later he's going to be back at work. How are you going to deal with that?"

"He will just be hurt."

"I know," Gideon smiled gently, amazed that the young man could still feel empathy towards Morgan. "But he will hurt just as much no matter who tells him. We'll back off, let you make the decision as to when and where. But we can't, we won't, wait forever. If you want me to talk to him I will, but he needs to know."

"Agent Gideon, Agent Reid," Dr. Anderson came up to them. "I'm just on my way to check on Agent Morgan."

"Dr. Anderson," Gideon greeted him. Reid didn't say anything, but Dr. Anderson turned to him anyway.

"Agent Reid. If you have a moment, I can take those stitches out for you before you go. Your lip looks healed enough."

Reid self-consciously touched his still slightly swollen lip and looked at Gideon.

"Go ahead," the older man said. "I'll wait."

Reid followed Dr. Anderson to the nurses' station, where the doctor efficiently and quickly removed the stitches, and then prodded the lip a little.

"It looks fine. It'll probably be tender a little while longer, so I'd stay away from spicy food for another couple of days if I were you."

"No problem," Reid said. No problem indeed, the thought wryly to himself.

* * *

That night Reid sat at his table, a piece of toast and a banana in front of him. He stared at them contemplatively. How hard could it be? He'd eaten them both a hundred times. It was just toast. It was light food, easy food. The kind of food your mother put in front of you when you'd been sick.

He picked the toast up with two fingers, as if he were afraid that it would bite him, rather than the other way around. 'Come on already,' he chided himself. Resolutely he closed his eyes and took the smallest bite possible of the toast.

The reaction was immediate. It was there, it was back. The gun was pushing against his palate, making him choke. The taste of metal and gun oil exploded on his tongue. He threw himself over to the sink where he spit out the toast together with bile and what little liquid that still remained in his stomach.

He stood heaving by the sink. Apparently this would not be the day when he got to still his hunger pangs with real food. This had to stop, he knew that.

Too tired to care he filled his stomach with water, threw the toast in the trash, put the banana back into the fruit basket and headed off to bed.

* * *

The next morning Reid woke up feeling completely washed out. He almost fell asleep in the shower, and then again as he waited for his coffee to percolate. The caffeine, however, did help him to perk up enough to get to work on time.

Gideon and Elle were at the hospital, talking with Morgan, while the rest of them started going through the information that had gathered on the Fells and Arden families during the night.

As both Gideon and Morgan had predicted, the Fells family didn't contain anyone out for revenge. Having a family member convicted of murder was embarrassing and not something to be spoken about. Martin was the black sheep, already abandoned by those who'd loved him growing up.

So they concentrated on Arden. He'd grown up with a mother and two older sisters. His mother had died from cancer, only a month after his suicide. And the middle sister had fled to Australia and was trying to make a new life for herself far away from her grief.

That left the oldest sister, Kelly, alone. She was 39-years-old and still lived in the house where she'd grown up, where she'd nursed her dying mother. Everything fit the profile.

She worked in the secretarial pool at the County Clerk's Office. Hotchner had spoken with her boss over the phone and he'd informed them that Ms. Arden was an exemplary employee, who was currently a week and a half into a three week vacation. They hadn't heard from her, but they hadn't expected to either.

Garcia had been running her through the systems all morning. She'd looked into her credit cards, her bank records, put a trace on her cell phone and scanned airplane manifests, but so far she'd been invisible. Garcia had however detected a large withdrawal from her savings just before she disappeared, meaning that she could live off cash for a long time.

JJ had gotten the Chicago field office to search her house. They had met an elderly neighbor who was looking after Kelly's dogs and watering her plants. She'd had nothing but good things to say about her darling neighbor who was always so attentive and helpful.

When Elle and Gideon came back, they were still trying to get to know Kelly through her paper trails.

* * *

JJ opened her small bag of vending machine peanuts and inhaled deeply. This was comfort food and she planned to enjoy all twenty-six, salty, crispy peanuts in the bag.

On the way back to her office she saw Reid, who sat at his desk with the phone pressed to his ear, but he wasn't speaking. Instead he was idly playing with some paperclips on his desktop, his eyes far off into space.

She hesitated, she had phone calls of her own to make. But even though the room was bustling with people and activity, he looked so alone. Elle was in JJ's office, waiting for her to bring back the promised goodies, and Morgan's desk was dark and empty and it made Reid look like he was the only one there.

Without conscious control, JJ detoured and plunked herself down on the edge of Reid's desk.

"Hi, how's it going?" she said, eating a peanut.

Reid looked up, a little startled by her sudden appearance in his personal sphere.

"I'm trying to reach the detective that handled Judge Trenton's death, but I've been on hold for fifteen minutes now." He enviously watched as another peanut disappeared into her mouth.

"The department secretary put you on hold, right? I hope you were polite. Most of them are viciously protective of their detectives. If she comes back on…"

Was it her imagination or was Reid's eyes tracking the peanuts from the bag to her mouth?

"…Do you want some?" She held the bag out to him, but he held up his free hand and shook his head no, but she felt that his eyes said something else.

"Are you sure?" she pressed, shaking the bag under his nose, thinking that the smell would have the same effect on him as it did on her.

"No, I'm fine, really."

"I have potato chips too. They are really Elle's, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind…"

He once again held up his hand to her, but this time it was to dismiss her as his eyes shifted focus and he started speaking.

"Detective Lewis? Hello, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid and I'm calling from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit…"

JJ left with a quiet wave. He was busy now, and so was she.

Reid watched her leave as he let his brain and mouth turn into automatic gear for a while. The smell of those peanuts had actually left him dizzy and had triggered another churning of hunger. Those were thankfully coming less and less frequently now. Intellectually he knew that not feeling hunger was a bad thing, but right now he was just relieved. Constant stomach pains made it so hard to think.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Elle said, frustrated. "We can't find her anywhere. There's not a trace of her. I mean, we have people checking hotels and motels, but do you have any idea how many of those there are around here? And if she changed her hair color or something like that, she could stay anonymous for ever."

"How about a press release?" Gideon said.

"What do you want?" JJ asked. "A public announcement asking people to contact us it they've seen her?"

"No, the opposite. We know she's methodical and goal oriented. She's probably laying low somewhere, waiting to get the confirmation that she succeeded. For all she knows, Morgan might not even have eaten the candy bar yet. But if we go public, confirm the attack and then say that Morgan's going to be fine…"

"A trap…" Reid breathed.

Hotchner looked quizzically at Gideon. "You want to set a trap? You want the unsub to try again?"

"She wants him dead," Gideon said. "Let's give her a chance."

* * *

JJ worked fast, and by the next broadcast, all the major networks had adopted her statement into their headlines. The team stood around a TV that had been brought into the conference room and watched a stylized woman in a navy suit bait their trap.

"Tragedy struck at the FBI headquarters in Quantico last Friday. FBI Agent Derek Morgan, a highly respected profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, went into a coma after having eaten a chocolate bar laced with high-grade amphetamine. For his team and the rest of the agents he works with, it's been an anxious couple of days, but luckily, Agent Morgan is now awake and is expected to make a full recovery. Agent Jennifer Jareau, the spokes person for the BAU has informed us that Agent Morgan's attack was perpetrated by a suspected serial killer, but she assured us that there's no danger to the public. In Iraq today…"

JJ turned off the TV. "What do you think?"

"Do you really think she's going to strike at the hospital?" Reid said, suppressing a yawn. He was still seated at the table, where he had sat most of the day. He wished he wasn't so tired all the time.

"Maybe we can fake it," Gideon said. "Have a body double leave the hospital, suitably attired of course. We'll take him to Morgan's place, let him move in and see what happens. We'll keep the guards on Morgan too, of course."

They looked at each other.

"It's not a bad idea," Hotchner said. "I'll have Garcia go through the employee records and look for suitable candidates."

* * *

Reid had such a desire to put his head down on the table and just close his eyes for a few minutes, but he knew that if he did, half the room would descend on him and ask him how he was. He'd probably be sent home too, if he wasn't careful.

Instead he gulped down the rest of his now cold coffee and decided to get up and walk around a bit. But then the effort seemed too strenuous and he stayed seated. His concentration was waning, as was his focus.

"Didn't Detective Lewis send you a witness report from Judge Trenton's case, Reid?" Hotchner said

Reid looked up. "Huh?"

"The witness report?"

"Oh, right." Looking down on the table in front of him he found nothing. "I… I forgot it at my desk. I'll go get it."

He pushed himself up slowly, aware of the others' scrutinizing looks. He took two steps towards the door, and then fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

"Next week the committee plans to make public…" Garcia had brought newspapers from the last week and was catching Morgan up on current events, when he suddenly interrupted her mid-sentence.

"Garcia?"

"Yeah, sugar?"

"What happened to Reid?"

"Um… What… what makes you think something happened to him?" Garcia's voice was shrill with nervousness and she refused to look up from the newspaper.

"Well, that cut on his lip didn't just appear out of nowhere, did it? And did you see how thin he was? He looks like he hasn't eaten in a week. Has he been sick?"

"No, no, he hasn't been sick."

"Then what happened? And what are those marks on his neck?"

"Umm… Nothing happened… or, well, I don't know. Maybe it's better if you ask him or… I don't think I'm the right person to… you know…"

"Garcia, just tell me. What happened?"

"I… I… Oh, honey."

Morgan paled as he suddenly understood what she was trying very hard not to tell him. He remembered Reid's reluctance to come near the bed, and there was the fact that he hadn't been back to visit him today. As glad as he'd been to see Elle and Gideon, he'd expected Reid to be the one to come and visit him.

"I… Oh, god. Did I do that? Garcia, did I hurt Reid?"

"Well, you…"

"What did I do? You have to tell me, Pen. What did I do?"

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **A huge **thank you** to the most generous Linda3, for giving me permission to use the medical information she researched for her wonderful Sentinel story 'Food For Thought'.

--

It took a moment for the others to react to Reid's unexpected fall, but when they did, a horrible sense of déjà vu floated over them. But where Morgan had looked close to death, Reid merely looked like he was sleeping, though he was far too pale for a healthy person. He lay on his back, one arm resting on his stomach, the other bent in an angle over his head. His hair had fallen over his cheek and was partially hiding his eyes.

Elle knelt next to him and patted his cheek repeatedly. "Reid? Come on, Reid. Don't do this to us."

JJ was already on the phone, calling the ambulance back to the FBI building for the second time in less than a week.

Hotchner and Gideon also knelt on the floor. Gideon felt him over for injuries, but couldn't find anything. Hotchner pressed his fingers to the pulse point on Reid's bony wrist and was worried when he felt how fast and erratic it was. He was about to comment on it as Reid's eyelids started to flutter.

Reid's eyes opened and he stared up at them in unmasked confusion. "Wha happen'," he slurred, trying to sit up.

"No, stay there, Reid, don't move," Gideon admonished him, pushing down on his shoulders. "You're okay, you just fainted on us."

But Reid kept struggling to get up. "Gideon," he said. "Lipton, he needs to be watched. He's got a history. He's killed before."

Gideon looked at him, trying to transfer his own calm to the agitated young man, but the others exchanged puzzled and worried looks. Lipton had been the unsub they caught just before this whole mess started.

"Reid, we caught Lipton, remember," Gideon said. "We caught him over a week ago."

"No, no. He'd hiding. He's got a lair, you'll see. Where he has his trophies." Reid had achieved an upright position and was looking around him. "Why are you all just standing there? We need to go to his lair. We have to stop him before he kills again." He put his hands down to push himself up to a standing position, but suddenly froze. "I don't… I don't…" And then he lost consciousness again, all color disappearing from his face.

Hotchner, still kneeling on the floor, deftly caught him before he hit the floor, cradling his head in the crook of his arm. "Dammit," he swore. "Come on, Reid. Wake up." He shook him gently without getting a response and frowned. Had he always been this light?

"Where the hell is that ambulance?" Gideon asked no one in particular.

-----------------------------

They were in the ER waiting room, each caught in their own personal hell. Another member of their team was down, and they hadn't been able to prevent it.

"What could have happened? Has he been drugged too? Did the unsub get to him?" Elle asked.

"Why?" Gideon asked. "Everything points to a personal vendetta against Morgan."

"But now that he's going to be okay, maybe she's changed perceptions. Revenge by proxy?" Elle theorized.

"It doesn't fit the profile," Gideon argued.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, please," Hotchner said. He sat in a hard plastic chair, leaning back tiredly. Yesterday Morgan had been on the mend, which meant the team had been on the mend. Now they were back to square one.

Dr. Anderson came into the waiting room, looking serious.

"Hello. I wish I could say it's a pleasure seeing you all again, but…"

"What happened to Reid? Was he drugged too?" Elle interrupted him.

"No, but… does any of you know if Agent Reid is diabetic?"

"No, he isn't," Gideon answered quickly. "Why?"

"He's suffering from severe hypoglycemia, which is a severe shortage of glucose or sugar in his blood," Dr. Anderson explained.

"So, he's missed a few meals and his blood sugar level dropped?" Hotchner said, sounding relieved. That wasn't so bad.

But the doctor shook his head seriously. "This is much more serious than missing a few meals or a slight drop in his blood sugar level. His glucose level was practically a whiteout, so low it almost couldn't be measured. It's a good thing you brought him in when you did, he was almost borderline coma earlier."

"A coma? Oh, no, not him too." JJ said, hiding her mouth behind her hand in shock.

But Dr. Anderson calmed her down. "No, no, he isn't in a coma, but he was definitely heading in that direction. I'm just amazed that he was able to function so well until he collapsed. Which brings us back to how he got to this state. A normal, healthy, non-diabetic person's blood sugar level does not drop this low by skipping lunch or even missing a few meals. This takes time. Going by his blood sugar level, his thin, gaunt appearance, slow response of skin turgor and a few other signs, I'm willing to bet that Agent Reid has had virtually nothing to eat for the last five or six days. He's malnourished, in fact to put it bluntly, he's starving."

"Starving?" Hotchner said, incredulously.

A shocked silence followed, before Elle exploded. "Hell no! That's impossible! He's too smart for that."

"Elle…" Hotchner tried to placate her.

"No! No way. Why would he do that to himself? Why would he do something so stupid?"

"Elle, please." Hotchner said. "Doctor, will he be okay? What are you doing for him?"

"Well, right now we're giving him several units of D50, that's a highly concentrated level of dextrose administered through an IV. That will bring his blood sugar level up. We're also giving him vitamins and nutrients, also through an IV, which is the quickest way to get them into his system. We'll see how he responds to that. This is only a temporary quick fix of course. Once he leaves here, if he doesn't start eating again on a regular basis, he'll be right back in the same condition fairly quickly."

"And what if he doesn't?" JJ asked. "What if we can't get him to eat?"

"There are protein drinks and other supplements that can provide him with enough nutrients and vitamins to sustain him for a while, but that's not a permanent solution. He needs proper calories to build himself up again. So it's very important that we find out why he hasn't been eating and correct that problem. He'll need counseling of course. I just hope we'll be able to solve this before we have to resort to desperate measures, such as feeding tubes. He's out of immediate danger for now, and I intend to keep it like that. The good news is that at least he's been drinking properly, kept himself well hydrated. This could've been so much uglier."

The doctor's commitment and care was reassuring to the team as they tried to digest all the information they'd been given.

"Doctor," Gideon said. "When he came to after having fainted, he didn't know where he was, and he was talking about our last case as if it was still going on. Has… has his brain been affected by this?"

"No, I very much doubt that. When a person's blood sugar level drops this low they often become confused and disoriented. In fact, they're often mistaken for being drunk or on drugs. Once his glucose level rises back to within his normal range, the confusion should disappear."

"How long until he's okay? How long will he have to stay here?" Hotchner asked.

"First of all we need to figure out why he isn't eating. If we can figure that out and correct it, things will get back to normal rather quickly. We'll probably just keep him here overnight so we can monitor his blood sugar level and in case we need access to the IV again. If everything looks good enough tomorrow, I'll release him then, hopefully having seen him eat breakfast here first. He can be treated as an out-patient after that. And I hope I can trust you to keep an eye on him."

The team looked at each other. They would keep an eye on him, of course. They would take care of him. They would do everything they could for him. But they didn't really have the time. They still had an unsub to catch, which was as urgent as ever.

"Is there a problem?" Dr. Anderson asked, catching the looks.

"No," Gideon said. "We'll keep an eye on him, every chance we get." They would figure something out. They took care of their own.

"What can we expect?" Hotchner asked. "What should we look out for?"

"He's going to be a bit shaky and unsteady for a while. He's put his body through quite a shock, first the lack of food, then the drop in blood sugar, followed by the rapid replacement of glucose and then eating again. He might suffer from headaches and become nauseous when he tries to eat. It's better to let him start with several small meals throughout the day rather than three big ones until his system has adapted to eating regularly again. He might also be overly emotional for a while, until his blood sugar finally levels out. It'll be a week or two before he's back to his old self."

"Can we see him?" JJ asked.

"Of course. Follow me, please."

Dr. Anderson led them to an exam room. "We'll be moving him to a regular room in a couple of minutes." He then excused himself and left them.

They could see Reid through the glass window in the door. He was lying on a partially raised bed, and looked like he was sleeping, still much too pale than they liked to see him. IV tubing fed into his arm, sustaining him with much needed nutrients. The hospital blanket and gown did not look very warm and they could see how thin he'd become. Not emaciated as they had perhaps feared from the doctor's description, but it was still obvious that Reid's body had changed.

"How could this be going on and nobody notice?" Hotchner asked.

"We were busy," Gideon said curtly. "It's been a very stressful week for all of us."

"Did we… did we forget about him?" JJ asked nervously.

"No, of course not," Gideon comforted her. "We asked about him every day. But we couldn't see what he wouldn't show us."

"Lot of good it did," Elle was pacing, practically fuming. "We should have seen. He got hurt too, but all we've done, and asked him to do, is to find the one who hurt the one who hurt him. And even though he and Morgan are friends… well, that just makes things ten times worse, doesn't it?"

"Elle, this isn't our fault. He wanted to work on this case. He wants to get the unsub just as much as we do." Gideon said.

Elle stopped and looked at him. "He lied to me, Gideon. He looked me right in the eyes and lied to me. And not just once. 'I've already eaten, I'm wearing lots of clothes because it's winter, I'm not hungry right now, I'll eat later.' And I believed him. I believed him every time, because he's Reid."

"I don't understand," JJ said. "Why didn't he tell us that he was doing so badly? We'd have helped him, we'd have taken care of him."

"He was probably afraid that we would've taken him off the case," Hotchner said.

"We wouldn't have kept him completely out of it, though, would we?" JJ asked.

Neither Gideon nor Hotchner spoke.

"Hotch?" JJ asked, but it was Elle who answered.

"He obviously needed medical care. He belonged in a hospital. There's no way he could have taken an active part in the case if we'd known."

"She's right," Hotchner said. "We'd have taken him off to protect him. But he should've realized that on his own. He should've taken himself off. He should've seen a doctor. He had no business coming to work."

"And yet, where would we have been without him?" Gideon asked.

"Gideon, you cannot possibly condone this behavior," Hotchner said, frowning.

"Of course not. I'm just rationalizing it. Look at it from Reid's point of view. We needed him for this case. I'm not saying that we wouldn't have reached the same conclusions on our own, but it would've taken a lot longer and been more complicated. And I can understand why it was important for him to be a part of it. Would any of you have accepted sitting on the sideline while the rest of us tried to catch someone who'd hurt your best friend?"

They were quiet for a while, all of them examining their own hearts and finding that they probably wouldn't have acted much different, had it been them.

"Besides," Gideon continued. "Even Dr. Ramirez cleared him."

"With reservations," Hotchner said.

"What? What reservations? Why haven't I heard of this?" Now Gideon was the one frowning.

"It was nothing major. He just thought there was something off with him, but he couldn't pinpoint it. He figured a few follow-up sessions would be all that was needed."

"He looks so small," JJ said, as she stared through the window, her arms wrapped around her own body. Gideon went up to her and comfortingly put his arm around her shoulders.

"I think it's better if we don't crowd him right now," he said.

"You're right. Just tell him that we're thinking of him," JJ said. No one questioned that it would be Gideon who stayed.

"We'll be with Morgan when you're done. Take your time," Hotchner said, and with a pat to his back he led the women towards the elevator.

"What are we going to tell Morgan?" JJ asked as they got into the elevator.

Hotchner and Elle just looked at each other. They had no answer.

-----------------------------

The room was semi-dark when Gideon quietly pushed the door open and sat down on the edge of the bed. Reid had come out of his doze, but kept his head turned away, staring at the wall and Gideon settled to look at the opposite wall… waiting.

"Did the doctor tell you?" Reid finally said.

"He did," Gideon confirmed.

"Are you angry?"

"No… Yes."

"I couldn't take the chance of being excluded from the case. I needed to be a part of it. You understand, don't you?"

"Maybe we could've worked something out."

"You don't know that."

"Reid…"

"I thought I could handle it on my own, I really did. I never meant for it to get this far."

"I know," Gideon soothed him.

Reid finally turned his head and actually looked at him. Sensing the motion Gideon also turned his head and their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," Reid said, his voice heartbreakingly small.

"Me too, Reid. Me too."

-----------------------------

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Morgan lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet bustle of the hospital at night. Garcia was sleeping, curled up like a kitten in an armchair next to the bed. He knew that it was long after midnight, but he couldn't sleep, even though his aching body was craving the rest. Today had just been too much…

Garcia's stuttered explanations of his misdeeds hadn't done much beside heighten his anxieties, so he'd let her off the hook and sent her out on a special errand. She'd protested, but he'd been adamant. He wanted it.

His mother had been with his aunt this afternoon, getting a much needed break, so he'd been left alone with his thoughts, letting one horrible scenario after another build up in his mind. Then Hotchner, Elle and JJ had come for an unexpected and solemn visit.

Reid was sick. Reid wasn't eating. Reid was starving. Reid was slowly killing himself because of something he'd done. Morgan had never known that guilt could be a physical hurt, but here it was, crushing him under its weight, choking him.

The team had been able to give him a clearer view of what had happened in the round table room, but Morgan had found their stories inadequate. They had after all not been there for the whole thing. They didn't know how it had started. They hadn't heard what was being said. They couldn't tell him what he needed to know.

Then Gideon came up, looking tired and haggard, but most of all sad. He'd sunk down into a chair and sat there, rubbing his face with his hands. He hadn't told them much about what he and Reid had talked about, wanting to protect Reid's privacy, but he couldn't keep the despair secret.

He told them what Reid had told him about the flashbacks, about how everything he put in his mouth felt like a cold, hard steel barrel, ready to take his life away and Morgan felt an icy hand grip his heart and squeeze it until he could barely breathe. What had he done?

They had left him. Overpowered by their own grief and guilt they had gone back to the office, hoping that by finding the unsub they could bring some relief and closure to their hurting friends. Gideon had stayed with him, patiently listening to him rant until he was exhausted, patiently listening to him scream and yell and cry, patiently picking up the things he threw around him in anger, picking up the shards of a broken glass as well as the shards of a broken soul. But Gideon hadn't had the answers he needed either.

Garcia had come back with his special request and he'd sent Gideon away. Not knowing what would happen or how he'd react, he'd tried to get Garcia to leave as well. But she knew what he was going to do, and refused to leave him alone.

And though he was now more enlightened and even more horrified, he still didn't have all the answers and he knew that there was only one person in the whole world who did. But would Reid be willing to give them to him? Would Reid even be willing to talk to him?

--

Reid was dreaming. He was running from something, but he didn't know what it was. He wanted to stop and look, but he couldn't make his legs stop. All he could do was run and run and run…

He woke up with a start and had to take a minute to remember where he was. The light from the corridor crept into the room from the partially open door and his eyes quickly adjusted. Then he noticed that he wasn't alone. In the dim light he saw the shape of a man sitting next to his bed.

"Morgan? What… what are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's almost two in the morning. When I heard that you were here, I knew I had to come see you."

"Umm… okay. That's nice of you. But it's the middle of the night. Should you be here?" Reid didn't want him here. What could he possibly want that couldn't wait until morning, when there would be lots of other people around?

"Probably not. Garcia will have a fit if she wakes up and finds me missing."

"You snuck out?" Reid asked, only now realizing that Morgan was wearing a hospital gown over a pair of sweatpants and that he was sitting in a wheelchair with an IV pole. An IV that was still attached to the back of Morgan's hand.

"I suppose I did. How are you?"

"You know why I'm here?" Reid asked, sitting up in bed. He liked the height difference. Morgan had to look up to see his face. It gave him a small feeling of power, when in reality he had no idea where this situation would take him.

"Yeah, they told me. They all came up and visited me once you'd been admitted this afternoon. You should probably be extra nice to Elle for a while. She was pissed..." Morgan gave up the feigned light-hearted attitude. "Listen, Reid…"

"I know, I know, what I did was stupid."

"No, that's not what I was going to say. Reid… I'm really sorry about what I did."

"What you did?" Reid said slowly. "You know? They told you?" He'd hoped that that hadn't happened yet. He wasn't ready.

"Bits and pieces. I figured a lot out by myself first. I could see that something was wrong with you, and the way everybody kept avoiding the subject… And then I kind of bullied Garcia into showing me the security footage from the round table room."

Garcia had held his hand and wept as they'd watched the black and white Morgan push the black and white Reid up against the wall and stick a black gun into his mouth. And even though Morgan had seen Reid with his own eyes and had known that there were no bullet holes in him, he'd still wondered whether or not the Morgan on the film would pull the trigger.

"Oh, god." Reid said, feeling increasingly nauseas. It would've been one thing if someone had told him, but he had actually seen it happen. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I needed to know. I could see that something was wrong, and I needed to know how badly I'd screwed up. I could've never imagined… Reid, that was… What I did is inexcusable. I am really, really sorry."

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault, you were drugged," Reid said mechanically.

"No, Reid, it's not okay. It's nowhere near okay, and I don't know how you'll ever be able to forgive me or trust me again. But…"

"But?" Reid asked, nervously tucking an invisible strand of hair behind his ear.

"But… the security camera doesn't record sound. I want to know what I said to you." Morgan held his breath, waiting for the reaction.

"No."

"No?"

"No. You can't know. I don't want you to." Reid shook his vehemently.

"Reid, I hurt you. Badly. Why won't you let me take responsibility for it? Please, tell me what I said. I can't fix it if I don't know what it is. Please." He hadn't counted on this.

"I can't. I can't tell you." Reid wasn't looking at him. He was looking at his fingers, which were beating a nervous tattoo against his leg. Morgan also found himself riveted by their motion.

"Why?" he asked carefully, resisting the urge to reach out and stop the fingers, knowing that Reid wouldn't want to be touched.

"Because… because I'm scared. I'm scared that it will turn out to be… true. That you were actually telling me the truth, and that you had only been too polite to tell me before." Reid was surprised with himself. He'd never thought he would admit that out loud.

"Oh, Reid, was it that bad? I'm sorry. I really am." Morgan's voice was so heavy with sadness that it struck a chord deep within Reid, and he looked up at him.

"Listen, Morgan, stop apologizing, okay? I know you would never hurt me willingly, or anyone else for that matter, that's not you, you don't have it in you. But the thing about us humans is that the things we say and do, we can control, mostly anyway. But the things we think, those we can't control. Believe me, I should know. And I can't help but think that it had to have come from somewhere. You couldn't just have made it up then and there, it had to have come from _somewhere._"

"What? What had to come from somewhere?" Morgan was feeling slightly desperate. It felt like he was just digging the trench between them deeper.

"Reid, you have to know that I'll do anything I can to make things right. I'll… I'll buy you a car, I'll paint your apartment, I'll fix you up with the hottest chicks I can find. If you want, I'll apologize to you every day for the rest of our lives. When we are grumpy old geezers in a nursing home bragging about out grandchildren and accusing each other of cheating at shuffleboard, I'll still be apologizing every day." His eyes begged Reid to please, please, please understand how sincere he was being.

"If you'll do anything, then please respect my wishes and stop asking me about it, stop talking about it. Just forget about it. Forget it ever happened. That's what I'm going to do." Reid said, hoping to put a stop to a conversation he hadn't wanted to be a part of in the first place.

"Forget about it?" Morgan said incredulously. "No, I can't do that. Tell me, how am I supposed to go on with those images burned into my head?"

"No one forced you to watch."

"But you didn't have that option. Reid, I know that you don't want to talk to me, and that you probably don't want me to be here right now, but like it or not, we're in this together. You and me. I meant it when I said I want to fix this for you. I'll even quit if you want me to."

"What? Why?" Reid looked up, surprise clearly written all over his face. He'd never even thought of that. Quitting himself, maybe, but he hadn't expected Morgan to. Not over something that wasn't his fault.

"Because you shouldn't have to go to work uncomfortable. You shouldn't feel like you have to tiptoe around me because you're afraid I'll go crazy or something. And I can't blame you for not liking me anymore. After seeing that tape, I don't particularly like me anymore."

"Who says I don't like you anymore?" Reid frowned. Who had he been talking to?

"Can you honestly say that you will be okay working with me day after day? Trusting me to watch your back?" Morgan wanted Reid to have the chance to take control, to tell him what he could do to help him.

"Morgan, you don't have to do this. It really wasn't your fault, you were drugged."

"I'm sick and tired of hearing that argument," Morgan said, his voice laced with self-hatred. "That doesn't change anything. It doesn't change what I did. If someone gets behind the wheel drunk and kills someone, we don't say it wasn't his fault, we put him in jail."

"Yes, but he would've probably drunken the alcohol willingly." Reid reasoned. "You didn't. You didn't want to be drugged, it wasn't a pleasure trip. And believe me, had you done what you did while under the influence of recreational drugs taken willingly, I would hate you right now. The only thing that makes it bearable to be in this room with you is the knowledge that you wouldn't have put yourself or me in that situation willingly. You were drugged, Morgan, and almost killed because of it, by someone out for revenge. Someone who wanted you dead, not me. It really wasn't your fault," he said, wondering if he'd said the right things, but Morgan latched on to a statement that had just slipped out.

"_Then _you would hate me? You should hate me now. That's your problem."

"Excuse me? _That's _my problem?" What was he talking about?

"Yes. You can't go on and blame everybody else. You have to realize that it was me. Your buddy, you pal, your partner. Me, Derek Morgan. Even if I was drugged beyond all sense, I'm still the one who held that gun on you. You have to accept that if you're going to move on. It wasn't some stranger in an alley, not an unsub we were chasing. It was me."

Reid shook his head.

"No, you're wrong. I have to believe that it really wasn't you holding that gun. How will I ever be able to work side by side with you if I think for even one second that it was you?"

"No, Reid," Morgan said forcefully. "That's not the way to do it. You have to let it out. You have to let yourself be angry with me. You should want to scream and yell and throw stuff at me. You should steal my food and punch me out and kidnap my goldfish and hide my stapler and slash my tires and… and… what?" he broke off, seeing the disbelieving look on Reid's face.

"Kidnap your goldfish and hide your stapler? Staple much, do you?"

"You're missing my point," he said tiredly. "I want you to be angry with me. I want you to take your anger and hurt out on me, not yourself. You can't keep hurting yourself."

"But it wasn't your fault," Reid protested again.

"That doesn't matter. You can be angry with the unsub too, if you want, but you have to allow yourself to be angry with me, because I'm the one who hurt you. It was me. Me!"

He heaved himself up on shaking legs, gripping the guardrail on Reid's bed tightly. The IV-line, being just a tad too short, tugged the wheelchair forward, bumping it into his heels.

"Me, Reid. Me."

He noticed how Reid shied back at first when he stood up and how uneasy he seemed with their closeness and it fueled him even more. Reid shouldn't be afraid of him. They were supposed to be friends.

"Are you just going to lie there and let me destroy your life?" he said, leaning in even more. "Hell no! You're stronger than that. You're better than that. I hurt you, Reid. Me. I did it. I hurt you. It was me. Me, Reid. Me! I hurt you. It was me, Reid. It was me! I did it. Me!" Morgan kept on pushing and pushing relentlessly until…

"Don't you think I know that?" Reid finally snapped at him. "I was there, remember? Front seat row and everything."

"What happened?" Morgan asked again. "What did I do, Reid? What did I say? Tell me… please."

"Do you want to know what you said to me? Do you? You basically told me that I was a worthless little shit who talked too much and thought too much of myself and apparently you would be doing the world a favor by making sure I wasn't in it." He wasn't really yelling, it was more like a furious hissing sound, as he kept his voice low.

"I trusted you. I trusted you to have my back every time and you betrayed me. You hurt me!" Now he was yelling. "You… you… tried to kill me. You wanted me dead! You had a gun and… and… You son of a bitch, you tried to kill me!"

And with that he put his hands on Morgan's chest and shoved him, hard. Morgan lost his grip on the bed and stumbled backwards. The wheelchair rolled back and Morgan ended up landing hard on the floor.

As he recovered from his surprised state, he looked up and saw Reid peering at him from above, still panting from his outburst, but with no trace of anger left in his face.

"Oh my god, are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm not sure how to get up, though."

Reid climbed down from the bed on his own shaking legs and together they maneuvered Morgan back into the wheelchair. Reid untangled his IV before sitting back on the bed. They looked at each other, both feeling tired and sad.

"It's okay to hate me," Morgan said quietly. "You have every right in the world to hate me."

"I don't want to hate you," Reid answered him. "I really don't, but… I don't know how to think or feel about this. I don't know how to move on from something like this. I just don't know…"

"Take your time, it's a lot to think about. Just know, that whatever you decide, I'll be behind you, one-hundred percent."

"Even if it means quitting your job?" Reid asked hesitatively.

"Even then. The ball's in your court, buddy. Whatever you want me to do… however you want to play this thing out… I'll do anything you say. Anything. I just hope that somehow, somewhere, we'll still be friends."

There was a long pause, until Morgan spoke, sounding completely normal.

"Hey, I've got some chocolate. You want some?" He pulled a warm, soft candy bar from the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Haven't you given those up yet?" Reid asked, surprised.

"Not in this lifetime," Morgan snorted. "Besides, what are the odds that there is something in this one? Besides delicious nougat filling of course."

He tore off the wrapper and broke the bar in two. He held one piece out to Reid, who hesitated.

"Come on," Morgan cajoled him. "It's melting."

Reid took the chocolate in his hand and watched as Morgan licked his fingers before popping his own piece in his mouth, grinning with delight. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He carefully bit a small piece off… and felt nothing but sweet, warm, half-melted chocolate in his mouth. His eyes widened and watered as his taste buds exploded. There was chocolate in his mouth… and nothing but chocolate. The experience was so overpowering that he almost couldn't breathe. Morgan had finally, _finally_, done that which he hadn't been able to do for himself. He'd taken the gun out of his mouth.

Reid took the rest of the candy in his mouth, almost swallowing it whole with satisfaction and he watched greedily as Morgan brought another candy bar out of his pocket. Morgan gave him the whole bar and watched with a sad smile as Reid devoured it. He'd finally done something good for him.

--

The still standing team members were also burning the midnight oil, trying to cover all their angles before the operation was put into action.

Earlier in the day, Garcia had run a facial and body type recognition program through the FBI's records of active agents. Andrew Wilson from the bureau's anti-terrorism task force had been picked as the best match. When asked, he'd immediately volunteered. He was stationed in New York, so they were flying him in. The likeness wasn't perfect, of course, but with some make-up and the right clothes, they hoped to be able to pull the wool over Arden's eyes.

Tomorrow morning they would set their plan in motion. While the real Morgan was moved from the ICU to a regular room, their fake Morgan would be leaving the hospital under their escort. JJ would put together the appropriate press coverage. They would take Wilson to Morgan's house, settle him in and then leave him. Or pretend to leave him. Strategic places for surveillance would be set up, and there would always be someone in the house. Then they would settle in for a nervous wait.

Truth was, this unsub was unpredictable. They were working under the presumption that Kelly Arden still believed that they didn't know who she was and that she therefore would want to finish her work in the nine days she still had left of her vacation. Otherwise they were in for a long wait.

Also, since Arden never hurt her victims directly, it would be difficult to catch her in the act. But with a failure under her belt, they hoped that she would feel desperate enough to do something hands on and soon.

--

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Reid was in the bathroom of his hospital room, dressing himself. Funny how loose his clothes were. He hadn't really noticed before. There was a piece of gauze taped to the back of his hand, from where the IV had just been removed.

His discharge papers lay on the now unoccupied bed.

This morning a nurse had come in with a covered tray, obviously on a mission. She had started to explain what was on the tray and what good the different components would do to his body, but before she'd even gotten started on the antioxidants in the apple slices, he'd wolfed down everything on the tray, barely taking the time to enjoy the different tastes and textures that he'd been denied for so long.

The nurse had certainly been surprised, obviously having come in expecting him to refuse to even touch the food. Reid had briefly entertained the idea of explaining the mental blockage he'd been under and how he'd been released from it, and even though he could now eat, he wasn't so stupid as to think that he was cured yet. But in the end he hadn't, letting her leave with the empty tray, just in the nick of time.

He'd eaten too much, too fast, and his body had rebelled. He'd hunched over his aching and spasming stomach, sweat breaking out all over his body, praying that he wouldn't be put through the humiliation of throwing up. He'd thankfully been spared that experience, and the cramps had subsided, leaving a dull abdominal pain and a slight headache behind.

He had, however, explained his new found discoveries to Dr. Anderson, hoping that it would help him get discharged faster. And even though the doctor's mind was both eased and fascinated, Reid's morning blood tests had already shown that his glucose level was now high enough for him to be treated as an out-patient.

So he was released with a mile long list of advices from a dietician and recommendations to several therapists. Now he was on his way down to the lobby to see off Wilson as he became the new Morgan, if only he could get his tie on properly. His fingers, no his whole body, felt clumsy and unsteady with fatigue and he longed for his bed.

He didn't know why it felt important to be there when they set up their trap, it wasn't as if it was likely Arden would come running into the hospital, waiving a gun. But he knew that he wouldn't be allowed to take part of the operation, so he wanted to see it off, give it his blessing, so to speak. Besides, JJ was to drive him home after the press conference.

When he came out of the bathroom, he was met by a surprise. Garcia sat on the bed, furry, pink scrunchies keeping her hair from her face, swinging her legs, waiting. She looked up as the door was opened.

"Hello," Reid said with a questioning smile.

"Hi," Garcia said nervously, her legs swinging in an almost hypnotic fashion. "I… umm… they're moving Morgan right now and they, uh, wanted a bit of privacy. Sponge baths and all that, you know."

"Oh, okay…" Reid wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"Yup, he'll be up on the seventh floor now, room 708, if you're… uh, anyway, he told me he'd been down and talked to you last night and I figured that if he could, then I could."

"Then you could… what?" Reid asked, reaching around her for his jacket that was lying on the bed.

"Apologize," Garcia said resolutely. "I've been horrible to you, sweetie."

"You haven't been that bad," Reid protested.

"Yes I have. I should've been looking out for you, just like I was Morgan, but instead I was blaming you for making a bad situation worse. It was unfair of me and I'm really, really sorry."

"It's okay, Garcia, really. I never saw it like that. This case… it's been complicated. It's been hurting all of us in different ways. You just had to deal with it your own way. There're no hard feelings, I promise."

"So we're good?" Garcia asked, peeking at him over the rim of her glasses.

"As far as I'm concerned, we've always been."

"Fantastic." Suddenly Garcia was Garcia again, bouncing off the bed and threading her arm though his. "I'll walk you down."

--

Gideon, Hotchner, JJ and Wilson were gathered in a corner of the big hospital lobby. Elle was already hiding out in Morgan's house, waiting for them to drop Wilson off. Hotchner introduced Reid to Wilson and Wilson had to endure several minutes of Reid's scrutinizing looks. Reid came to the conclusion that one of the strange perks of working for the FBI was that it was never a problem finding a stylist and a make-up artist at three in the morning. Wilson was a pretty good match for Morgan. With a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap Reid would probably have thought he was Morgan too, at a first glance anyway.

"I've called the press conference for 9.30," JJ said, checking her watch. "I've set up in the park next to the parking lot, with the lobby entrance in the background. Once I've started…"

"Once you've started," Hotchner said, "we'll take Wilson out in the wheelchair, moving him over the parking lot, in view of the cameras, but not close enough for anyone to make out any details."

"And I'll keep talking afterwards, letting them ask a lot of questions and giving personal interviews to take the reporters' minds off it," JJ continued, "and even though they won't be fooled, most of the public seeing it will think of it as a coincidence."

"Except for the unsub," Gideon said.

"Except for the unsub," JJ agreed.

Garcia left them, saying that she had promised to meet Mrs. Morgan in the cafeteria for coffee before they went up to see Morgan.

"You wait here for me, okay?" JJ said to Reid with a light touch to his arm and he nodded. He'd spotted a lounge area, with several couches facing a TV mounted on the wall.

"I'll be over there," he said, pointing. Wishing them all good luck he trudged over and sank down into a couch, smiling politely at the man already sitting there.

It wasn't long until the TV's news anchor handed over to a reporter outside the hospital and he saw JJ climb up on a small podium and call for their attention. The sound was too low for him to hear what she said, but he had a pretty good idea.

He looked over to the lobby doors and saw the rest of the team lined up like a group of actors, waiting for their cue to go on stage. Another minute later they were gone and Reid turned back to the TV.

The station he was watching zoomed in on the wheelchair in the background behind JJ and tracked it over the parking lot. Reid kept a close eye on the man in the chair and was relieved to see that Wilson really did look like Morgan. Then they were in the car and gone and the camera went back to JJ, still on the podium, apparently answering questions.

Reid leaned back against the cushions, yawning, only a half eye trained on the TV. Now he was out of the game, out of the loop. He wouldn't know anything until long after it had happened.

A nurse walked past his seat and he reflexively looked up as the fabric of her scrubs fluttered in his line of sight. His first thought was that he didn't believe that the carrot-red hair color was real. Then something else struck him. He knew her from somewhere…

It was Kelly Arden.

He didn't know where the thought had come from, but was sure he was right.

He cast an eye on the TV, his heart beating wildly with adrenaline. JJ was still doing the press conference, her cell phone would be turned off. How far away could the others have gotten?

Arden was standing by the elevators, fingering something in her pocket and Reid, standing up, did the same thing, sticking his hand in his pocket. His gun wasn't there of course. He hadn't expected it to be. But his cell phone? He couldn't find that one either. Hadn't it been brought with him when he came here? It wasn't back in the office, was it?

An elevator arrived and Arden got on. Where was she going? Did she know Morgan had been moved? Where was it that Garcia had said Morgan was? Seventh floor, right?

Reid hurried over to the elevators too, uselessly stabbing the button repeatedly in a desperate manner, praying for a quick arrival.

When it came he almost collided with Dr. Anderson who was getting off. Keeping the doors from closing with his body, Reid urgently spoke to the doctor, who seemed surprised to see him in such an agitated state.

"You have to call Agent Hotchner and tell him that the suspect is here," Reid told him hurriedly.

"What?"

"Just call Hotch and tell him to come back here. And send security to Morgan's room!"

He let the elevator doors close, almost cutting his last words off, and then began jabbing the button for the seventh floor, chanting "come on, come on, come on," under his breath, his eyes glued to the changing numbers above the door.

He was in luck, the elevator wasn't stopped once on the way up. Once the doors opened, he just caught a glimpse of carrot-red hair going into a room further down the corridor, which Reid could only assume was Morgan's.

He sprinted after her, hoping there hadn't been a gun in her pocket. Turning into the room, he came to a sudden halt.

"Kelly, don't," he said, more calmly than he felt, holding his arms out by his side in a non-threatening manner.

Arden stood hovering over a sleeping Morgan, her back partially to the door. She held a knife in her hands. An ordinary kitchen knife, used in millions of kitchens every day to help feed people. Arden held the shaft in both hands, looking like she was ready to plunge it into Morgan's heart.

She looked up and over her shoulder at him, with just a hint of panic in her eyes, which she quickly hid behind an air of nonchalance.

"Don't come any closer," she warned, changing her grip and moving the knife to hover only a few millimeters over Morgan's jugular vein.

Reid stood his ground, not moving. "You don't want to do this, Kelly," he said, wishing desperately that Gideon were here, that this didn't have to be his responsibility.

Their voices were making the tired Morgan stir. His head lolled on his shoulders, coming to rest on his cheek, unaware that he'd just exposed his throat to a very dangerous position. He opened his bleary eyes, having recognized one of the voices that invaded his sleep.

"Reid?" he mumbled.

"Stay still, Morgan," Reid said, never taking his eyes off Arden.

"What?" Morgan blinked a couple of times, his muffled brain trying to register what was happening.

"You said that you would do anything I asked. I'm asking you now, to stay absolutely still." Reid's voice was harder than he'd intended, and tight with fear.

Finally the severity of the situation dawned on Morgan's sleepy mind, and he became wide-awake, seeing the threatening knife gleam in the corner of his eye. He froze to the point where he was barely breathing, immediately starting to calculate his chances. Could he take her out? Was Reid in a better position?

Reid's attention was back at Arden. He had to talk her out of this. She had never killed anyone with her bare hands before. It was a huge step, a huge hurdle for the mind to overcome, and he had seen her hesitate when he came in. He had to talk her out of this.

--

JJ stood in the lobby looking around. She didn't see Reid anywhere. Maybe he'd gone to the bathroom.

Her cell phone rang.

"Jareau."

"It's Hotch," came the terse reply.

"Hi. I thought the press conference went really well," she said. "I'll be heading back to the office, just as soon as I find Reid. I don't see him anywhere."

"I know. He has spotted Arden. She's at the hospital."

"He what? She's here?" JJ voice exploded with surprise.

"Just get to Morgan's room. We're five minutes out." He hung up on her as she sprinted to the elevators, her mouth dry with fear. Five minutes was a long time.

--

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

"Kelly, please put the knife down, so we can talk," Reid said.

"No," she said, changing her position so that she would be able to see Reid while still being able to keep an eye on Morgan. "That's not going to happen. If you have something to say to me, say it or leave me alone."

"Please, put the knife away. It's over now."

"It's not over until he's dead. Dead and buried. My brother is dead because of him," Arden sneered.

"Killing Morgan won't bring your brother back. I know that that sounds like such a cliché in a situation like this, but it's the truth. It won't change what happened. It won't change the past."

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I know he's gone forever? Don't you think I know that my family is forever broken? But he still matters! Henry still matters! He deserves justice, he deserves to be remembered and loved," she all but shouted at him.

"Do you really think this is the way he would want to be remembered? He loved you. Would he want you to destroy your life like this?"

"He wouldn't want the people who hurt him to be allowed to go on without a care in the world."

"Without a care in the world?" Reid said, suddenly feeling sad. "No, Kelly, no one lives without a care in the world. Everyone has problems and sorrows in their lives, some are just bigger than others… Think about it… Why didn't you go through with your plans when Benny Barker came home with his kids?"

She looked startled by the question, and her hand accidentally drew a small scratch over Morgan's neck. Reid bit his lip as he saw the knife trace the neck line, and Morgan closed his eyes in a quiet prayer. But Arden didn't seem to realize what her actions implied.

"I… I didn't want to hurt them, of course."

"Don't you think it hurt them, having to bury their dad? Never seeing him again? Always an empty chair at every dance recital, every Thanksgiving dinner? I know you hurt for your brother, but Morgan has sisters too. Do you want them to have to suffer like you have?"

A motion in the hallway caught Reid's eye. Hospital security had arrived, but they couldn't help him. They weren't armed, and they weren't trained negotiators. All they could do was help clear the hallway and the ward of people. And then he saw JJ. She was standing pressed to the wall right outside the door, her gun drawn and all senses on alert. She motioned for him to continue, wanting to give him a chance to talk Arden out of it. She didn't want to risk running in and scaring Arden into something desperate while Reid still had the situation under control. But just seeing JJ outside the door helped Reid immensely. He wasn't alone anymore.

"Maybe that's exactly what I want," Arden said, recalling his attention.

"I can understand that you don't want to be the only one in the world suffering, but can't you let it be over now? Morgan has suffered a lot already. He is still suffering."

She was hesitating now, he could see it in her eyes.

"How so?" she asked.

"Didn't you know?" Reid raised his eyebrows, gesturing to himself with his outstretched fingers. "When the amphetamine hit him, he almost killed one of his best friends. Me. See my lip? See the bruises on my neck? They are almost faded now, but they are there. Morgan did that to me. And trust me, it's killing him," he said, emphasizing the word killing.

She looked down on the tense man under the knife as if she was trying to read him, but with his head turned the way it was their eyes couldn't meet.

"It's over now, Kelly," Reid said, taking a small step towards her, testing the waters. "You've done enough."

But she tensed up again, the knife drawing a small line of blood from Morgan's neck and Reid stopped again, his breath momentarily caught in his throat. He looked at the blood, and then at Arden. An idea formed in his head.

"Do you know how much blood there is in a human body? Do you know how much someone bleeds when their jugular is cut?"

Morgan winced mentally. 'Now is not the time for a lecture, Reid,' he thought. But that was not what Reid had in mind.

"You've never killed anyone up close, have you? Are you prepared for that? There's going to be a lot of blood. It's going to spurt all over. It's going to be all over the room, all over you. It's going to be on your hands, warm and wet and red. It's going to be on your clothes and on your face. Are you ready for that?"

Arden looked down at her hands, as if seeing them in a new light. She lifted the knife slightly, her eyes thoughtful and Reid knew that he had won. The thought of blood scared her.

Then she looked up at him and Reid could tell that she was about to make a desperate run for it, and even though Morgan was in the bed, not three feet away from him, he suddenly missed him fiercely. Morgan was always the one with the quickest reflexes, always the one who ran after the suspect first.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. He saw her lift the knife, holding it out in front of her as if she would be jousting and then she started running towards him, or rather towards the door, which he was unfortunately blocking.

"JJ!" Reid called, but not fast enough. Arden was only three steps away from him. He took a step back and twisted his body to get out of the way, but they still collided. He felt their bodies slam together, the knife trapped lengthwise in-between them. He lost his balance as her heavier frame crashed into him with a surprised grunt and he took a hold of her arms both to steady himself and to keep her away from him, but they both went crashing to the floor. He twisted his body even more so he wouldn't end up underneath her, instead they both fell on their sides. He felt a searing pain spread across his stomach and knew that even with all his precautions, he hadn't been able to avoid the knife.

He let go of her arm and plunged his hand in between them, searching for her hand and the knife. He found the knife first as it sliced a wildfire of pain over his palm before he managed to wrestle the hand that held the knife out and above their still horizontal bodies. There he felt another hand join their bloody ones and he looked up and saw JJ, forcing the knife out of Arden's hand, tossing it away from them, sending it clattering across the floor until it came to a stop against the far wall.

JJ pulled Arden out on the floor and pushed her down on her stomach, pressing a knee into the back of the struggling woman as she fished her handcuffs out.

"Reid, are you okay?" she called.

Reid was too winded to answer as he brought his hand down to his stomach, then bringing it up, looking at the blood, too late remembering that both his hand and his stomach were wounded and he had no idea what blood he was looking at.

"Reid?" another voice called, laced with worry.

He looked up, his senses slightly numb and his reaction slow. Morgan was sitting up in bed, tearing at the IV and the oxygen cannula, trying to free himself to get out of bed.

"Reid? Answer me," JJ called again, still sitting on top of Arden.

"I'm… I'm fine," he finally managed to say. "It's nothing, really."

He pushed himself up into a sitting position with his good hand, deaf to the others' protests that he should keep still. He slid on his butt until he ended up with his back against the wall, pressing his arm against his smarting midriff.

"I'm fine," he insisted, blinking a couple of times to clear his head. "Stay in bed," he admonished Morgan.

Hotchner, Gideon and Wilson came running through the hall, having already been told by the security guards meeting them at the elevators that the situation had been taken care of. Morgan just stared at the appearance of Wilson, dressed in his clothes. His mind was not quite up to par yet, he had forgotten all about the plan.

Quickly assessing the room, Hotchner went to keep Morgan in bed while Gideon knelt next to Reid, taking a hold of his shoulder to help steady him, trying to assess the damages. "Get the suspect out of here so we can bring in the doctor," he said, and Wilson immediately went to help JJ lift Arden to her feet and frog-march her out of the room, reading her her rights.

"I'm okay," Reid said again. "It's nothing." He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He was feeling light-headed and it appeared as if the room was making small undulating motions around him, making him nauseous.

"Reid, come on, look at me," Gideon said worriedly, afraid that Reid was slipping away, and Reid reluctantly did as he asked. He was so tired. It was like if every ounce of strength he'd managed to muster was being leached out of him together with the warm blood that was coating his stomach.

Dr. Anderson came into the room together with a nurse. He knelt down on the other side of Reid, but Gideon refused to give up his place, leaving the nurse standing, holding bandages and other supplies in her arms.

Dr. Anderson pulled Reid's arm away from his stomach and unbuttoned his shirt, carefully peeling it away as it was stuck in the wet wound. Reid hissed through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Anderson apologized.

"'s okay. I'm fine. It's nothing," Reid persisted.

"How about I make that call, okay?" Dr. Anderson said gently. After a brief examination he nodded to the nurse to hand him some bandages which he tied around Reid as a temporary fix.

"I wouldn't call it nothing," he said, "but it doesn't look bad. The knife only grazed you, so it's just skin and muscle damage, but you're going to need stitches."

"Fantastic," Reid replied monotonically.

Dr. Anderson proceeded to wrap gauze around his hand as well, frowning. "We'll have to clean this out properly before we can make sure the tendons aren't damaged. Can you wiggle you fingers?"

Reid managed an awkward half-wave, but all his fingers did move.

"Good, very good." Dr. Anderson turned to the nurse. "Let's get him a wheelchair and take him down to the ER."

"Reid?"

Reid looked up and saw that Morgan was staring anxiously at him from the bed, where Hotchner sat with a hand on his chest to keep him from jumping off.

"You saved my life… thank you, I…"

Reid shook his head. "It's okay, you don't have to…"

"But, Reid…"

"No, no, it's fine." He didn't need more of Morgan's guilt, he wasn't through processing the last batch.

Garcia and Mrs. Morgan had been kept worriedly waiting by the security guards until the room was cleared, but now they were shown in. Garcia gasped as she saw the blood covering Reid and Mrs. Morgan looked between her son and Reid.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked Morgan as Hotchner gave up his seat on the bed for her.

"I'm fine, mom," Morgan said, kissing her cheek. "Reid took care of everything. He saved me."

Luckily the wheelchair had been brought in and Gideon and Dr. Anderson were helping him to his feet, so he could concentrate on his feet instead of having to look at the others.

"Thank you, Dr. Reid," Mrs. Morgan told him as he was seated. "Thank you so much."

When he shrugged it off, Garcia came up to him, leaned down and took his head firmly between her hands and gave him a big kiss, right on the lips.

"You know, for a knight in shining armor, you're not too shabby," she told him.

"Umm… thanks," he said, slightly bewildered, as she released him.

As they started to wheel him out, Morgan once again called after him. "Reid!"

Reid closed his eyes, ignoring the call. His head was spinning. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, it was overwhelming him. He'd collapsed, been taken to the hospital, been given enough glucose to make his body spin on its own axis, then the emotional confession to Gideon, the confrontation with Morgan in the middle of the night, eating again, the adrenaline spike when he identified Arden, the tension and helplessness he'd felt, seeing her standing over Morgan, ready to cut his throat, her mad rush for freedom, the knife connecting with his stomach, the blood... and now he was off for more stitches. He couldn't be expected to deal with anyone else right now. Morgan had his mother and Garcia by his side. Reid shouldn't have to worry about his feelings too.

He felt Gideon put his reassuring hand back on his shoulder, walking next to the wheelchair, but he didn't try to draw him into conversation, he didn't try to make him talk, and for that Reid was immensely grateful.

He wouldn't know what to say anyway.

--

After what felt like hours of examinations, which Reid, in spite of the pain, mostly dozed through, and an abundance of stitches decorating his body, he was released from the hospital with painkillers and antibiotic pills filling his pockets. Dr. Anderson wouldn't have minded keeping him over night, if nothing else than to make sure he got enough rest, but Reid had begged him to be let go, unless it was absolutely necessary for his health to stay.

Gideon had driven him home and fed him soup and crackers before more or less tucking him in, making himself comfortable on Reid's couch.

After almost sixteen hours of uninterrupted painkiller- and exhaustion induced sleep, Gideon had made him breakfast and made sure that he was capable of taking care of himself before leaving him. Gideon was barely out of the door before Reid too was on his way, ignoring all advices of rest. He knew what today was, and he wasn't going to be left out.

And that was why, a half-hour later, Reid stepped off the elevator at the BAU floor and surveyed the bullpen. It was still rather early, only a few desks were manned. Looking up he saw that while Gideon's office was dark and closed, Hotchner's lights were on. He didn't see either him or JJ anywhere, but Elle was sitting at her desk.

Reid shuffled stiffly towards her and plunked himself down tiredly at his own desk.

"Hey," he greeted Elle, who was staring at him over the low partition that separated their desks.

"Hey," she answered in clear surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to be here for the interrogation."

Elle nodded knowingly. She wouldn't have wanted to miss that either.

"So…" she said, dragging the word out. "How are you doing?"

Reid suddenly realized that he had neither seen nor spoken to Elle since before he fainted in the conference room, which felt like a lifetime ago. And he remembered what Morgan had told him.

"Elle," he said hesitatively, not sure how to express himself the best way. "I know that I screwed up and I know that you're mad at me. I'm really, really sorry for worrying you."

Elle stood up and brought her chair over to Reid's side, so they could speak quietly to each other. Reid watched her nervously.

"Reid, I'm not mad at you," she said gently when she sat close enough for their knees to be bumping into each other. "I was, but not anymore. I just can't get it into my head. Why? How could you just stop eating like that? I know you know how dangerous that is."

Reid quickly decided that Elle wouldn't buy any obfuscation at this point. Plus, he'd promised Gideon to start being honest with his team.

"It wasn't supposed to get that far. I thought I would be able to fix it before it became dangerous. I just never found the time."

"The time for what? What was your plan?"

"I was going to do research. Learn more about the underlying causes of flashbacks and..:"

"Bullshit," Elle interrupted him.

"What?"

"You heard me. There's no way that you don't already know everything there is to know about psychology and different disorders."

"I'm not up to speed with the newest research…"

"But you still know more about it than most people. You had all the tools, I know you did. Why didn't you use them?"

"I… I don't know. I guess I didn't want to…to…"

"You didn't want to… what?"

"Just that, I suppose. I didn't want to. If I could just focus on one problem, then…"

"Then you wouldn't have to deal with other problems, say for example that your friend had almost killed you and that he might be dying."

"I guess so. God, it sounds so simple when you put it like that."

"That's hindsight for you," Elle smiled at him. "What about protein shakes and all those other god-awful meal replacement drinks? My roommate in collage lived on those for weeks at the time when she wanted to loose weight. You can get them in any grocery store. Why didn't you take those?"

Reid shrugged. "I thought about it, but I guess I didn't think I needed them."

"Didn't need them? Reid, you were almost in a coma because of malnutrition. How could you not have needed them?"

"I just figured that by the next day I would be fine, that it would blow over, that I would be able to eat again. It felt like I would be cheating, like I would be giving in, giving up. I couldn't do that."

"Oh, Reid," Elle said sadly, "I just wished you hadn't insisted on taking it on on your own, I wish you hadn't been so alone. We're a team, remember. For better and worse, in sickness and health and all that."

Reid smiled at her wordplay, which she took as an invitation and she leaned over and hugged him, careful of his soar midriff. At first he seemed a little uncomfortable, but he did hug her back, feeling relieved that he'd been able to mend this bridge.

"Just talk to us next time there's something wrong, okay?" she whispered before pulling back and he nodded, promising.

"You're eating now, aren't you?" Elle asked.

"Yes, I am."

She looked searchingly at him. "For real this time?"

"Yes, for real. What, you want proof?"

"You know, that's exactly what I want." She got up and moved over to her own desk. "You can eat my therapy."

"Eat your therapy?" Reid had no idea what she meant by that.

"Yep." She pulled Tupperware canister out of her desk drawer. "I was so agitated last night, thinking of all the things that could've gone wrong, hating the fact that I wasn't there for it. I just couldn't sleep, so I baked instead. It's very therapeutic."

She pulled off the lid to reveal neatly stacked cookies.

"It's oatmeal and raisin," she said. "It's good for you."

"What about the sugar and butter?" Reid asked as, his hand hesitating over the cookies before he took one. Maybe food wasn't his enemy anymore, but it had been and it was difficult to forget old grievances.

"Just concentrate on the oatmeal and raisins." Elle told him. "That's what I always do."

--

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Hotchner stood on the ledge overlooking the bullpen and stared unbelievingly down into it, where Elle was waving a box full of cookies under Reid's nose.

"Hey," he called, jogging down the stairs. "You're on sick leave, you're not supposed to be here."

Reid looked up. "I just thought…"

But he was interrupted as Hotchner saw Gideon make his way slowly through the bullpen, pushing Morgan in a wheelchair. "And neither are you! What's going on here?"

"I just wanted to be part of the interrogation," Morgan said. "I want to see her. I want to talk to her."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Hotchner asked, but it was Gideon who answered.

"Hotch, he needs this."

Hotchner looked at Gideon over Morgan's head and nodded.

"Hey," Elle said, walking over to Morgan and drawing a finger along the armrest of the wheelchair. "Sweet ride."

"Sure is," Morgan agreed. "And it even came with a chauffeur. But do you know what the best thing about it is?"

"Uh-uh," Elle shook her head.

"It's a two-seater," Morgan said, gripping her around the waist and pulling her down into his lap. She landed with a squeal and proceeded to give him a bop over the head, a very gentle one though, and asked,

"Tell me, did this loss of intelligence happen before or after the coma?"

"Ooh," Morgan said, scrunching up his face in a pretended hurt expression. "You're dangerous, woman."

Elle bopped him on the head once more for good measure before kissing him on the same spot and standing up, offering him and the others cookies too.

Reid sat by his desk, feeling overwhelmed and insecure. He hadn't expected to see Morgan today. He was nowhere near done thinking yet. He didn't know what to say. When Morgan's eyes ghosted over him, a slightly desperate look on his face, Reid gave him a shy smile, but other than that he didn't offer anything. Thankfully, Morgan didn't push, but then again, he'd promised to do this on Reid's terms.

The elevator opened and JJ escorted a brown-haired woman in her forties with a visitor's badge clipped to her coat out of it.

"This is Janine Panachuk, Kelly's lawyer," she introduced as Ms. Panachuk shook hands with all of them. "She just flew in from Chicago."

"All right," Hotchner said. "Take Ms. Panachuk to interrogation and I'll escort Kelly up."

--

Morgan had left the wheelchair behind in the bullpen and hung heavily on Gideon's arm as they progressed through the corridor, but in front of the interrogation room he let go of Gideon and stood up straight. He walked into the room with every ounce of his self-confidence showing and sat down next to Hotchner who was already facing Kelly Arden and her lawyer. Gideon walked into the corner of the room where he stood half-in and half-out of the shadows. With his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall, he stood sentinel over his team.

On the other side of the two-way mirror Elle and JJ had pushed Reid down into a chair and stood on each side of him. Elle kept her hand on his shoulder, unconsciously moving her thumb back and forth, rubbing his upper arm soothingly.

Hotchner started the recording device sitting on the table in front of him and recited the information about the case, the date and those present, before turning to Arden.

"Ms. Arden, are you responsible for the deaths of Michael Trenton, Lester Holt and Benjamin Barker and the attempts on Special Agent Derek Morgan's life?"

"I advice you not to answer that question or say anything to incriminate yourself, Kelly," Ms. Panachuk said, leaning in close to her client. "If they have a case, let them prove it."

"Yesterday I woke up with her holding a knife to my throat, Ms. Panachuk," Morgan said bitterly. "How much more proof do you think we need?"

"He's right," Arden said. "I'm going down no matter what. I don't see any point in keeping secrets anymore. The answer to your question, Agent Hotchner, is yes. I killed them."

"Let the record show that my client is confessing against my recommendations," Ms. Panachuk said, and then sat back, feeling she had done her job. If her client wanted to bury herself, there was nothing she could do about it.

"I killed them, and I'm glad I did," Arden said. "They deserved it for what they did to my brother. They deserved it for ruining Henry's life."

"How did they deserve it?" Hotchner asked. "How did they destroy your brother's life? They were just doing their jobs. Your brother had committed a crime and it was their job to…"

"No," Arden shouted, interrupting him. "They weren't just doing their jobs, they were playing God. They didn't care that my brother was innocent. They wanted to send someone to prison and they chose him. They were wrong!"

"Your brother wasn't innocent," Morgan protested. "He took part in an armed robbery where a person got killed. A man with a wife and two little girls was killed."

"Henry never killed anyone. He made a mistake, a small one. He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, but did anyone listen? No! He was just a scared kid, who had to take all the blame, because you were too lazy to find the rest of them, those who were really responsible for the crimes my brother was sent to prison for. Why didn't you? Why didn't anyone speak for him? Why did you all just stand there and watch as he was destroyed? How could you? How could you go on with your life when my brother had lost his? Have you no shame? Have you no honor?" she spat at him.

"It was your brother's choice," Morgan argued, feeling deeply wounded by the accusations. "All he had to do was tell us the names of those who were with him, but he refused. He gave us no choice."

"That's because you didn't care. You just thought of him as another kid from the streets, didn't you? But he was someone. He was someone to me. He was my brother. My little brother…" she sobbed.

"Jellybean-Kelly, that's what he used to call me when we were kids. Jellybean-Kelly. He was the child who crawled up in my lap and asked to hear a story, he was the boy who came home bursting with pride when he scored the winning goal in soccer. He was the young man who cried all night the first time our mother was diagnosed with cancer. He was my brother!"

She looked up at them, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I did everything I could for him. I sold my car to pay for his defense. I sold my house and moved in with my mother. And the only lawyer I could get was this guy Barber, who'd just taken the step from public defender to private practice. He'd be the best I would ever get for my money, he told me. But that no-good, overprized idiot… do you know what he said? Confess, he said. Confess and they'll be lenient. Henry didn't want to, he wasn't guilty, he hadn't done anything, but he confessed anyway. He thought he'd get a suspended sentence, Barber promised him that. But he got eight years. Eight years for witnessing a murder! How is that justice? I ask you, how is that fair?"

But no one answered her, instead letting her spew her sadness and anger onto them.

"When he got out, he wasn't my brother anymore. He was a stranger. There was no joy in him, no life. We got to keep him for eight months, that was all. We did everything we could to cheer him up, to make him come alive again, to remind him how good life could be, but one morning I walked into his room and found him hanging… I couldn't help him. I couldn't save him. Do you have any idea what that feels like?... I remember sitting by the window later that day, once they had taken him away, looking at the neighbors packing their car for a weekend trip, and I wondered how it could be that they were still going on their trip, like the world hadn't just ended."

She looked down on her own hands, which were tearing a Kleenex into small, small pieces, peppering the table with paper snowflakes.

"Eight months after he died, my mother had died too, and my sister had left the country. Dad died when I was still a kid. I was sitting all alone in the kitchen, reading the morning newspaper and saw that the prosecutor, Holt, had been made District Attorney. And that's when I realized that no one cared. That everyone else's life was still going on and moving forward and they were happy. And I thought about it and I thought about it and I thought about it and the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Like my brother hadn't made an imprint on the world. Like he had never mattered. And I couldn't let it be that way. I had to do something."

--

"It always surprises me," JJ mumbled in the viewing room.

"What does?" Reid turned his head and looked up at her sad face.

"How human they sound."

--

"Growing up, we'd dream about what we wanted to be," Arden said, sounding like she was talking more to herself than to them. "Henry wanted to be a fireman and an astronaut and a teacher and a gardener and I don't know all the things he said. Melanie, our sister, wanted to be a professor. It didn't matter what in, she just wanted glasses and an office full of books and a black board and chalks of her own. I… I wanted to be a veterinarian or work in a zoo. And look what happened to us. Mel is waiting tables in Australia somewhere. Henry ended up in prison before he got his first real job. He never got to be anything. And look at me. I grew up and started killing people," she said bitterly. "I never thought…Isn't it odd? How we change without even wanting to, without ever meaning to."

She looked at Morgan with fire in her eyes, anger bubbling in her chest.

"Do you realize how much I've hungered for revenge? How I've longed to see you cold and pale, beyond the reach of any human hands and minds. How I've dreamed of seeing your mother cry as mine did when my brother was buried. How I've ached to see your sisters devastated like Mel and I were when we heard the sentencing. Have you any concept of how much I hate you? You and those conspiring with you to ruin my family. He was my brother. My brother!"

She broke down, leaning over the table, sobbing, her lawyer awkwardly patting her on the back.

Hotchner turned off the recording. The interview was over.

--

_Epilogue_

Several weeks later, Reid lay in bed, twisting and turning, sleep nowhere near claiming him. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was Morgan's first day back at work.

Time had moved much too quickly. The last couple of weeks had just whizzed past as he'd been thinking about his choices, wondering about the consequences.

Otherwise he was doing great. He was in therapy twice a week and he had no problem talking to the rest of the team anymore, even though he still felt guilty for lying to them for so long. He'd been back at work for a while now and he was eating fairly well, even though he was still a bit too skinny. He was, however, being drowned in well-meaning calories, as the break room these days resembled a bake sale more than anything else and complimentary fruit- and muffin baskets had begun to show up mysteriously in their department instead of staying with their original recipients. JJ had gained three pounds since he'd come back to work. She was not happy. Reid, however, was. He'd never known he had so many friends in the building.

But he knew he was still being watched. He hadn't earned back the complete trust of his team yet.

And he had been avoiding the subject of Morgan, except for brief interludes with his therapist. He felt like that was a decision he had to make on his own.

He now thought that he had reached a decision. He was sure it was the right thing to do… almost. What if it wasn't? What if it backfired on him? What if it screwed everything up beyond repair? He was taking a huge chance here. Would he be able to pick himself up again, if it blew up in his face? Did he even have the guts to go through with it?

Flopping over on his back and kicking off his sweaty covers, he sighed and stared into the night.

Tomorrow was the day.

--

It was Morgan's first day back at work, and it appeared as if the team had been kind enough to save him three weeks worth of paperwork, just to keep him sufficiently occupied. Perhaps not his favorite task, but it was much better than sitting at home. He'd finally convinced his mother that he was well enough for her to go home, and his place was finally back to the bachelor pad he knew and loved.

Morgan had been rather nervous coming here this morning, and it had been strange for a while. There were a lot of people walking on eggshells around him. Not his own team, but the rest of the agents and support staff occupying the bullpen. But mostly he'd wondered how things would be between him and Reid. They hadn't seen each other since that day of Arden's interrogation, and though Morgan had missed his friend, he'd been perfectly willing to give Reid all the space he needed. But he couldn't help wondering how things would be now.

Reid had been rather subdued during the day, like he always was when he was thinking hard about something he couldn't quite figure out. Morgan had caught him looking at him contemplatively several times during the day. It was getting close to quitting time, and he still didn't know which leg to stand on in regards to Reid.

In the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught sight of Reid, who was walking nervously up to his desk.

"Morgan?"

Morgan immediately abandoned the keyboard and turned his full attention to Reid. Was this it? Was this his sentencing?

"Yes, Reid?"

"I… I… I've got these tickets. Basketball. It's this weekend. Would you… Do you… Do you want to come with me?"

Morgan's face split into a toothy grin and he almost laughed with relief. It would take time, of that he was sure, but he and Reid would be all right.

"Sure thing, buddy. Sure thing."

THE END

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**Author's Notes: **We'vereached the end on the line, folks. I would say that I hope you've enjoyed the story, but judging from the reviews, I already know you did. Therefore I would like to thank you for your time and patience and especially thank you for all the reviews. A lot of sunshine has been sent my way and I dearly appreciate it. Thank you.


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